The Domino Effect
by Doubleplusgoodduckspeaker
Summary: Oneshot Anthology Ch 18: Gangshipping: Jounouchi x Hirutani, slight Puppyshipping: Jounouchi x Kaiba. Hirutani's gang specializes in trading Kaiba Corp weapons, but when Gozaburo starts pitting the gangs against each other, they become drawn into a world far more dangerous then they could ever imagine.
1. For Justice! For Love! For Card Games!

**The Domino Effect** is my compilation of one-shots; each chapter will be an unrelated story. Some will be for the Eighth Season of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, some will just be random stories that I upload for no adequately explored reason. This, in short, is my attempt to Atkins up my profile page.

_For Justice! For Love! For Card Games!_ Is my entry for Round One of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, Season Eight; the challenge pairing is _Spiritshipping_: Yami no YugixAnzuxYugi, and I had a blast writing this. Two words: Superhero Story. :D It's actually something of a spoof of all those superhero movies, so read this with a healthy sense of humor and sarcasm. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_"For Justice! For Love! For Card Games!"_

* * *

Strange things happened in Domino City.

Or maybe it was that, because strange things happened so often they were taken as normal everyday occurrences, Domino was due for something truly unusual.

Yet, in an ironic twist perhaps typical for this city, something truly unusual came presented in the form of someone small and unassuming.

"Thank you for your purchase, and have a great day!" As Yugi Moto bid farewell to the latest customer at his Grandfather's game shop—he still thought of it with that prefix, never as _his_, it just never seemed to fit—he couldn't help glancing at the clock that hung on the far wall. The day was almost over, and he supposed it wouldn't hurt to close up a little early. The small game and puzzle store did enough business to get by, yet for Yugi it wasn't about the money at all. Being around the people he loved, being able to play any of the games he liked—there was a solace here that he wouldn't trade for anything.

The phone rang, shrilly bleating away his reveries, and he ambled over to the wall-mount, pressing the phone to his right ear. "Oh, Anzu! How was your day?"

…Alright, maybe there was one thing that he would trade it all for.

Yugi's eyes lost a little of their newly-found sheen as he nodded and 'Mm-hmmed' over his end of the line. "He surprised you with tickets to Swan Lake? How wonderful… no, you go and enjoy yourself. I'll keep packing up over here. Of course we can reschedule. Have fun… bye, Anzu." Eyes drooping towards the worn floor tiles, he returned the phone to its cradle, resisting the overwhelming urge to shout out his frustration just in case a customer had wandered in. He pulled open the cabinet's top drawer, glaring at the small envelope stamped with the Domino Performing Arts Center's logo hatefully, as if it were the source of all his troubles. This time, Otogi had beaten him by two hours. And those tickets were expensive… front-row mezzanine. She would have loved it.

He made his way to the front of the store, fitting the red closed sign in its place before trudging back to the stairs at the far corner of the store. The basement level still had a dozen boxes crowding that small apartment, and Yugi needed to fix it up so hopefully a renter would ease some of their money troubles. Sugoroku couldn't handle the stairs on his own anymore either—he had thrown out his back moving the first of the boxes, and had spent most of the week resting in his room.

As Yugi hefted the lightest-looking box, groaning at its actual weight—appearances could be deceiving that way—he couldn't help but wonder at how the night was supposed to have gone. The look on her face when he showed her the tickets… the elegance of the ballet, the moonlit stroll after the show, the improbable confession that it was him all along, and never Otogi—"I know," he'd say, and then he'd close the distance between them and—

"Ouch!" He'd walked straight into the doorframe. The box fell from his hands, hitting the floor with a sound somewhat like breaking pottery, and he cringed. Better check what the damage was. The box was old cardboard, with faded words 'From Egypt' scrawled upon its sides in his grandfather's unmistakable handwriting. Inside was old relics from his days as an archaeologist… he could see photos of his grandfather not much older than himself. Faience scarabs lay scattered amongst ushabtis in the corners of the box, brilliantly blue, yet what drew his attention was the jumble of mismatched pieces, filling up the center of the box. Instinctively he reached in, and pulled a piece out.

The gold shone even in the weak light of the basement, and Yugi had put together enough puzzles in his lifetime to know one when he saw it. The piece in question had a wedjat eye emblazoned on its center, and despite how battered the day had left him, Yugi felt the small stirrings of anticipation begin to unfold somewhere inside his stomach. He would finish this puzzle.

Dragging the box to a small wooden desk in one corner of the bleak space, he withdrew each piece until a small mountain of gold stood on the desktop. Taking a seat, he began, starting first with the corners, finding the spots where each piece fit together just right.

It was daunting, enthralling, and it kept him up half the night. When he finally placed the center piece into the now-completed pendant, instead of the feeling of absolute calm that would wash over him upon completion of each new puzzle, his thoughts turned, inexplicably, to Anzu.

He had liked her as long as he had known her, but he didn't know anyone that didn't like Anzu. She was just that kind of person. Yet for all of that time, despite his rather obvious social cues, he was the token best friend—the sympathetic soul on the other end of the phone, the supporting shoulder, the late-night rescue driver. He wanted to be for her what all of those others could never be, and more. He wished that he could become someone that she could love, yet who never broke his promises. He wished he was strong enough to protect her.

Overcome with an intense wave of fatigue, he stumbled upstairs to his room, clutching the finished puzzle to his chest, and collapsed on his bed, asleep before his head even touched the pillow.

* * *

Yugi awoke to the sounds of his grandfather making lunch downstairs. He slipped on faded jeans, a shirt and a leather jacket, eyeing the puzzle glinting innocently at the corner of his bed. There was a loop at the top of the pendant that made him sure that it was intended to be worn as a necklace. Rummaging into a drawer for a length of cord, he fashioned himself a makeshift necklace. Eyeing himself critically in the mirror, he frowned at the fashion statement—it did not look fantastic. At the same time, he did want to show Anzu the puzzle, and he could buy a sturdier chain at one of the shops downtown. Buttoning up the jacket so it covered the majority of the puzzle he walked down the hallway into the kitchen.

"I'm headed downtown to visit Anzu and I'll be back later, okay?" He called, waving as he pulled open the door and went outside. The weather was still a little crisp, with winter slowly fading into spring and as Yugi began the familiar journey into what was 'officially' downtown Domino—their store was just outside of it, saving them quite a bit on taxes—he could feel with every step the reassuring thud of his puzzle against his chest.

* * *

"If she won't shut up then just drug her."

"She won't even let me get near her! I swear she's got bricks in that purse of hers. Wow, Otogi sure knows how to pick them…" The two men had their hoods pulled back, leering at Anzu from her position on a white plastic folding chair set up in the corner of the windowless room. She glared back at them, unwilling to show the slightest hint of the fear that was starting to consume her. If she budged an inch they would push back a mile.

It had started at lunch. Just her and Ryuuji at his favorite sandwich shop. She was halfway through her turkey on a croissant when they had swept in, all in dark cloaks and sharing the unmistakable aura of power. They had meant to grab Ryuuji, but they had ended up with her instead—she had pushed him towards the kitchens before any of them had a moment to react. At the time, she didn't even know what she was doing. It was pure instinct. All that she knew was that she was still downtown—even blindfolded she could tell that the elevator ride was long—and that they were holding her ransom. She didn't even know who these guys were, and that scared her almost as much as anything.

A new man entered the room, clad in the group's apparent uniform and talking rather loudly on the cell phone he held up to his right ear. "You want proof she's still alive? Here…" He calmly pressed the speakerphone button and held the phone out to her.

"Anzu? Are you there?" It was distorted in static, yet Ryuuji's voice was unmistakable.

"Ryuuji, it's me! I'm okay… or as okay as I can be, considering…" Anzu's voice turned a shade softer. "What's going on?"

"Alright, time's up!" The man pulled the phone away, clearly enjoying prolonging their host's anxiety. "So, what'll it be? You need to wire the shares to the numbered account within ten minutes or who knows what's gonna happen to your girl?"

"Ten minutes is too short of a time…" Ryuuji's voice was strained, yet he was obviously unaware that he was still on speakerphone. Anzu's face was getting redder by the second. "Give me an hour. I'll need more time."

"I'll call back soon, and you'd better have an answer then. Remember, this is not negotiable. DDM's shares for the girl. Alive." He allowed his gaze to rise up to Anzu's face for one terrifying moment, and then snapped the phone shut. He motioned to the two lackeys still in the room. "Get the girl. It's time to send a little… message."

* * *

Yugi was standing in line, holding a slim link chain in one hand, and browsing the aisle of cheap impulse-buys standing between him and the cashier. He was currently sifting his hand through a bin of scarves and bandannas when the woman behind the counter suddenly grabbed the remote and navigated the televisions above the screen to a news channel. Yugi recognized the building as one of the apartment high-rises in the city, but as the camera zoomed in to the rooftop deck, he found that he recognized the girl currently being hauled through the door into the outside terrace. A scrolling marquee at the bottom of the television screen read 'Rare Hunters demand ransom for hostage, targeting Domino game company DDM.'

"Anzu…" Yugi's hand clenched into a fist; pulling it up closer to his face he realized he was holding a black scarf.

His mind later rationalized what happened next as something like an out-of-body experience, but what more accurately happened was as if one switch was turned down and another pulled up. Yugi felt the change come over him almost as suddenly as the difference between wet and dry or night and day, and instinctively _he_ knew what to do. Slapping down several dollar bills on the counter, he ran from the store.

* * *

"Time's up." The man in charge approached Anzu, who struggled to stand even though two other Rare Hunters had grabbed both of her arms. She had fought like a cat but the sedative seemed to be doing the trick nicely. It made her look much more like a hostage to the news media. "Time to make the call… you don't want to get hurt, do you?" Anzu tilted up her face weakly, but she couldn't see the profile of his face, hidden as it was behind the hood of his cloak.

"Put the phone away… your fight is with me."

"What the hell? How did you get up here?" The henchman yelled, turning to face the intruder.

The two other Rare Hunters advanced towards this man, grinning maliciously. "Got something wrong with your face? You will when we're through with ya…" Yet the man hardly even tensed; his only reaction to their words a slight curve to his enigmatic smirk. His mouth was the only distinguishable feature on his face; a large black scarf was tied like a bandana around his head, and then shrugged low over his face, with two narrow slits torn in the fabric that he could see out of. He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, retrieving the small squares of laminated paper.

"Yami!" He called out the name of the upraised card, grinning smugly at the two villains as their world descended into darkness. They immediately crumpled to the floor, clawing at the air with their hands. He gracefully stepped around them, continuing on towards the leader.

The last remaining Rare Hunter hastily placed one foot behind the other, edging cautiously towards the door. He had been around long enough to know when to get out, and that time was now. He reached into his own pocket and flung open his phone, dialing with shaking fingers the number he knew by heart. "Mr. Ishtar, we have to call off the operation. You wouldn't believe this man—guhhhhhh!" With terrifying rapidity his limbs seized up, each joint locked into place and in mid-step he fell, twisting sideways onto the cement terrace, completely unable to even break his fall. The ache in his head intensified into a rhythmic throb, his vision swimming from the impact. He heard a voice, his voice inside his mind, the pain in his left shoulder almost unbearable, yet something was preventing him from blacking out. '_You are a fool and a coward! You are gone from the Rare Hunters, but you will never be able to run away…from anything...ever again!' _His eyes were the only thing capable of any movement at all, and he did the only thing he could do: watch as this man approached him. A moment later his eyes closed and finally he slipped into unconsciousness, welcoming this black oblivion.

It was only when all threats were taken care of did the not-quite-Yugi return the cards to his pocket and rush to her side. "Oh, Anzu…" he felt her pulse: relatively stable, considering whatever they had put into her system. He gently eased her off of the ground, one arm supporting her upper body and the other arm under her knees. Her head turned towards him, supported by his shoulder. He began to walk back inside and down to the ground level. She needed medical attention.

* * *

Yugi ran back to the Game Shop, the leather jacket slung over one arm and the puzzle bouncing slightly with each step. His instincts were screaming at him to get back to the house, and once he had arrived and let himself in to the basement, he turned on the television and paced across the living room as the channel and sound chased after his remote selection. After a few moments, the female anchor's voice could be heard through the speakers:

"What appeared to be an attack on the Dungeon Dice Monsters Corporation was thwarted today by an unknown hero, who single handedly saved the day—and the hostage. Our cameras caught most of the footage, and experts are still speculating how he managed to get through the building and incapacitate these criminals, who are currently in custody."

He sunk to the floor in front of the TV, drawing his knees up against his chest as he saw himself going through the motions that he kept replaying over and over in his mind. His eyes jumped between the TV and the windows, half expecting someone to break down the door at any moment. Sweating, shivering, and out of breath, his current state was the least of his concern. Above all else, the question in the front of his mind was 'what in the hell just happened?'

* * *

Insector Haga, editor-in-chief of the _Domino Daily_ newspaper, turned slowly in his black leather swivel chair, absorbing the information that was being relayed to him. His secretary kept trying to page him, but he had expressly forbid calls at the moment—this was where news got made. He controlled the paper, and the question on everyone's minds was: 'who was that guy?'

"How do we know it's even a guy?" He asked, chuckling to himself that Domino's man of the hour might be lacking a y-chromosome.

"We've got forensics looking at the tape, and they're almost positive that it's a dude," Ryuuzaki, the Features writer he had assigned to the case, chimed in. "Male, twenties, and that's about it."

"Not good enough." Haga leaned back a little in his chair, trying out the look that Kaiba went around parading on the news. Head tilted up; then stare at them down your nose for a few seconds. He might have gone cross-eyed a little there. Oh well, it took practice. "We need a name. What are we gonna call this guy?"

"He's like a superhero… his outfit is a black mask and leather… how about Leather-Man?" One of the junior-staffers brought up hesitantly.

"No." Weevil settled for his own brand of disdainful glare. "Terrible idea. How could you even _brand_ that?" Ryuuzaki snorted at the surely unintentional pun, directing his boss' attention. "Got a better one?"

"Yeah… replay the tape; you'll notice that it actually picks up one word that he says, right when those two goons go down." They listened intently as the deep voice called out 'Yami,' the villains dropped to the ground, then the image froze as Haga pressed pause on the remote. The group nodded slowly, trying the name out.

"It kind of works… play off the dark bandana and jacket and it could make sense," Haga bristled a little, internally convincing himself that it was his idea all along and not that hack Ryuuzaki's. "Let's talk headlines: how about 'Yami: Hero of Domino's Darkest Hour.'"

"I was going to use 'Superheroes walk among us,'" Ryuuzaki whined.

"Overruled," Haga cut in, sitting up straighter in his chair to further reinforce his superiority. "Now, what's currently front-page for tomorrow's paper?"

The junior-staffer raised his hand meekly. "The special-interest piece on Kaiba Corporation's recent philanthropy event."

Haga snorted derisively. "Move Kaiba and his orphans to page seven. This is front-page material."

The horde of staff writers exited his office, leaving Haga alone. He once again leaned back into the soft leather of his 'you've-made-it' chair. Sales would go through the roof tomorrow and those proceeds would net him enough cash to upgrade his glasses to transitions lenses.

* * *

Anzu woke up to a world of mint-green walls, starched white sheets and the unmistakably clean smell of disinfectant. The attending nurse quickly moved over to her, checking her pulse and monitoring her vitals. "How are you feeling?" She asked Anzu. "What do you remember?"

"I remember… that room. Those men with cloaks…" She shuddered. "And… a voice…" For some reason she couldn't explain Anzu found herself blushing.

"Maybe this will help jog your memory." The attendant picked up a stack of newspapers from a tray on the other side of the room. Fishing through the papers, she picked up one folded piece by its corner and dropped it gently on Anzu's bed. "Let me know if you need anything. Also, a young man has just arrived and is asking to see you. Can I tell him you're awake?"

"Yes, of course." Anzu picked up the creased newspaper, glancing at the bold-print headline which took up a third of the page. The large picture in the center also captured her attention. It was of the mysterious superhero Yami, she read in the caption, holding the hostage; holding…her…

She looked up at the sharp rap on the doorframe, seeing Ryuuji rush through the room to her side. "Anzu, I came as soon as they told me you were awake. Are you hurt? I keep three law firms on retainer who are searching relentlessly for these Rare Hunters. I swear to you I'll—"

"Ryuuji," Anzu interrupted sweetly, taking a few deep breaths for good measure. Steeling herself, she began. "Ryuuji… if you had to choose between me or your company, would you ever choose me?" She had to let it out—it had been troubling her ever since she woke up. "You weren't going to hand over the shares. I heard what you said over the phone. You needed more time? Ryuuji, a life was at stake—my life was at stake!" The electronic beep of the monitor increased, providing a syncopated cadence to their conversation.

"I had to stall for time so that we could find a way to get you out of there safely," Ryuuji pleaded, moving the newspaper out of the way so he could sit down on the corner of the bed. "The answer always is you… I just couldn't tell them that. Look, you're up now; how about we sign some discharge papers and then get something to eat? It'll be my treat, and then we can go on like none of this ever happened."

Anzu sat up in her bed, shocked that he had actually said that. "But it _did_ happen… I can't pretend like it didn't. That's not healthy. I agree with what you said earlier, actually. …I… just need more time." She gave him a long, measured look. "I'll call you when, or _if_, I'm ready." Snatching the newspapers with a little more force than she attended she hid her face behind them, hoping that he would get the hint and leave her alone. It was only when she was alone, after reading and re-reading the article, that she realized how much she missed Yugi.

* * *

Yugi lay sprawled out on the floor of the basement living room, three objects spread out on the floor in front of him. One was the golden puzzle he had developed such an attachment to; the second was his deck of Duel Monsters cards. Completing the trio was his black scarf. "Think, Yugi, think," he mumbled to himself, staring each object down as if it would suddenly jump up and tell him everything. "This is just another puzzle… now what fits…"

He had come to some startling revelations during his time spent cloistered in that room. The first thing he knew for certain was that he had done something extraordinary. He had defeated those men and snuck past others in the building by methods unexplainable by any rational phenomenon. He had drawn cards from his deck, and somehow brought them to life in the minds of his opponents. And now, he was Domino's new superhero?

"I'm a superhero?" His voice came out feeble and oddly high-pitched, and inwardly he cringed. "I have magical powers!" Not much better. He flopped backwards, resting his head on the carpet. "I'm going crazy…"

Some seconds later, he got back up, studying the items with a fresher perspective. If he wanted to know if he really did have any… powers… he might as well get out there and see what happens! He picked up each item, placing the cards in his pocket and the pendant around his neck; buttoning up his jacket and stuffing the scarf in his other pocket just in case he ran into trouble.

After roughly ten minutes of wandering aimlessly around Domino, loitering and skulking around areas he would never have visited in broad daylight, he found it.

He saw the break-in from across the street; convenience stores always seemed to be the targets for these street gangs who were no doubt looking for cigarettes or alcohol rather than the minimal amount of change in the cash register. All the same, Yugi saw this opportunity, and pulled his bandana out of his pocket.

It shouldn't have been surprising how easily Yugi slipped into that other persona. It was so easy how he became the identity that he had been given. He felt freer, more confident; it was as if the weights on his shoulders had been replaced with helium balloons. When the sense of untouchable autopilot washed over him, he embraced it. What was surprising, however, was how much he liked it.

"Fissure!" He called the name of the card he had drawn, noting how the thugs instantly fell, the illusion of falling into the chasm sinking through all of their senses. He motioned for the cashier to call the authorities, and didn't stop the illusion until he heard their approaching sirens.

"Wait!"

He turned; it was the cashier, a middle-aged woman with dark curly hair, who upon seeing him stop broke into a wide grin. "Thank you, Yami."

"Uhh… no problem." He turned and left, melding into the darkness, and once alone and himself again, he ran home.

* * *

In the ensuing weeks, Yami was everywhere. From the security camera footage on that first night at the convenience store to the lockdown of countless other Rare Hunters in their failed attempt at invading Kaiba Corporation—they had barely gotten through the door when a combination of Kaiba's holographic dragons and Yami's illusory ones stopped them in their tracks—with their new superhero, the streets were safer than ever.

Domino loved it.

The media loved him.

"His facebook fan page already has five thousand fans," one newscaster said that morning. "He's made Domino a safer place. But what is he really like? Just who is Yami? That's what we all want to know."

Yugi switched off the TV, opening the game shop for the day. Duel Monsters cards were the new thing, and the store was generating quite the revenue from the recent rumors that the Rare Hunters were only targeting places associated with them—so that was where everyone wanted to be. He was helping a grade-schooler pick out his first deck when he saw a familiar face enter the store.

"Anzu! It's great to see you. Give me a minute and I'll be right over."

She had come at a good time—the busiest times were during lunch and just after school. Once they were alone inside the musty store Yugi pulled over another chair and joined her at the currently empty game table. "It's been what… two weeks since I've seen you? Otogi sure is monopolizing your time…" he laughed; it sounded forced.

"I'm not seeing him any more." Anzu's voice was even quieter in the silence of the store.

"Oh…" Inner Yugi was torn between being a tactful friend and jumping up and dancing around the shop. "When did that happen?" This was his chance! This was…

"Ever since Yami showed up, things have been… different."

…this was… so not going as expected. "Oh… really?" He should have known that she would want to talk about _him_; sometimes it seemed that everyone was.

"Yeah… I feel different. With the Rare Hunters in that room, it really felt that I was all alone. …But I wasn't, because he saved me." She looked down bashfully, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "Look at me, acting strange over a little crush!"

Yugi leaned forward, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, do you have a crush on him?"

Anzu felt her cheeks heat up; since when had Yugi ever been this forward with her? "Maybe," she shrugged, laughing it off as if it was nothing. "But don't ever let him know, okay?"

He laughed at her joke, and how it hit a little closer to home than she had anticipated. "I want to show you something," he said. His chair slid shrilly against the linoleum floor as he pushed it back and stood up. "I recently finished this puzzle, and you have to see it. Can you just watch the shop for a minute?"

"Sure!" She stood up as well, moving the chairs to their original positions. She looked up, a smile on her face as the front door swung open. "Kame Game Shop, how may I help you?"

* * *

Yugi was removing the puzzle from the bottom of his sock drawer when he heard her scream. "Anzu!" He grabbed the items and ran to the front of the store only to see her thrashing in a net made up of very thin strings, which was being raised to the roof of the neighboring apartment block.

With practiced efficiency he tied the scarf over his head and ran around the building to the fire escape. Hauling himself up the stairs, he reached into his pocket, wishing on the intrinsic power of those cards that he would draw something helpful.

"Gravity Bind?" A wicked smirk crossed his features as he played the card. Taking the last flight two stairs at a time he arrived on the rooftop, immediately seeing Anzu in the net hoisted over the edge of the building. Across from Yami stood a man so decorated with tattoos and piercings that he did a double-take out of sheer surprise. The opponent's limbs were frozen in a mime-like caricature and it took him another moment to realize that it was the result of the card he had played earlier.

"What do you want with us… with Domino?" Yami growled; his voice low and menacing as he advanced towards the mime.

"_Don't tell me you haven't gotten it yet?"_ The voice echoed throughout Yami's mind, yet his opponent's mouth stayed pressed in its firm line. It was dark with the faintest hint of accent, and if he had to lay his chips down Yami would have bet that he was speaking to the ringleader of the Rare Hunters. Yami replayed each scene again in his mind. The attacks must not have been random… large-scale companies, smaller franchises, their game shop, what did they all have in common… games and puzzles… think about it…

"You're looking for something." Now that he had it the answer was obvious. Why hadn't he seen it earlier?

"_And now I know that we've found it… or at least part of it."_ There was that voice again. Yami couldn't even begin to explain away that one, but his life after solving the puzzle had taken many twists and turns down the road of the inexplicable. _"Why don't we meet face to face? I'm sure you'll find it very… illuminating."_

"And then you can face me head on, without hiding behind your pawns!" Yami pulled another card from his deck; sending the mime-like villain into unconsciousness. He moved quickly to where Anzu was, pulling the net safely over the rooftop before slashing the ropes so she could escape.

"Oh, thank you," she said, smiling brightly at him as she straightened her clothing, smoothing her skirt to remove any wrinkles. She knew that he would arrive and rescue her, just like before. "And thank you for last time, too. I wasn't able to tell you that in person."

"Please, don't mention it." Yami briefly allowed their conversation from before to filter through his mind, now noticing the smaller details from the flush of her cheeks or to the way they each unconsciously leaned forward.

"My name is Anzu."

"Well, then you're welcome… Anzu." Yami was enjoying this a little too much.

"…How do they work? Your powers, I mean…" she trailed off, subtly moving a little closer to him.

"It's a secret," he whispered. "I can't tell anyone, because…"

"Because?" She could see a golden pendant hanging from a chain around his neck, and she ducked her eyes downwards. She could see his hands—oddly enough they looked smooth and pale, not what she had been expecting.

"…Because I don't even know how they work." He tilted his head down a fraction of an inch and then waited, smiling, for her to make the move.

For once in her life Anzu couldn't think of anything to say. After a moment's pause, the phrase _actions trump words_ drifted down through her currently hazy mind, and as she closed her eyes, ready to act on her own advice, inexplicably and without warning, she remembered Yugi.

Well that had never happened before. It made her stop, then move back slightly so that she could exhale. She wasn't quite sure what her breath would smell like.

Yugi. Why Yugi?

That unnamable pang skittered through her again and she repressed the thought. What, was she cheating on him? Her best friend? How would that happen? In a moment the expansive rooftop felt entirely too small, and too crowded.

"I should really go." Anzu allowed the disappointment to filter through every syllable. "I promised my friend that I would watch the store, and it's been awhile. I should really get back…"

"Then go." He stepped back, and in the morning sun she felt oddly cold. "…it's good that you want to keep your promise." The resulting smile was forced, the eyes hidden behind the scarf a little bitter. "If we do meet again, I hope it's under better circumstances."

"Goodbye, Yami." She turned to the stairwell door leading back down to the ground.

"Goodbye, Anzu." He waited until he was alone to feel the weight of the puzzle in his hand, detachedly observing how it would feel to throw it off of the building. Then, he realized where she was headed, and took off, back down the fire escape stairs.

Anzu returned to the Game Shop to see Yugi loudly sifting through boxes in their living room. "I guess I've lost that puzzle I was going to show you." He tried to look properly sad about it—he couldn't show it to her now, not when she'd already seen it. To her, he looked perfectly, heartbreakingly normal and she couldn't quite figure out why it made her want to look away. "Back to work, I guess. Tell me, how's your dance class going? Are your charges behaving?"

* * *

"Hey Haga, we got an interesting tip in the mail today." Ryuuzaki stormed into his boss' office as if it was his, dropping the tri-folded sheet of paper onto his desk, then seating himself in a smaller chair across the room.

Picking up the paper with a measured level of distaste, Haga began to read. "We challenge Yami to an all-or-nothing fight for the future of Domino. Appear at the last place we met in two days time and I'll direct you to the site of our final battle." Haga's eyeglasses gave off a metallic sheen in the fading evening light. "It sounds like a trap."

"Of course it's a trap!" Ryuuzaki exploded. It amazed him how thick Haga could be sometimes. "Are we going to print it?"

"Of course we are!" Haga smiled devilishly. "Pull the story about that giant rock at the Domino Museum and slap this on the front page. 'Fight for the future of Domino.' Make it look good, Ryuuzaki—sales have been through the roof ever since we started following this guy. That reminds me… do you have a list of all of Yami's most recent sightings?"

Ryuuzaki pulled a piece of paper from his notebook, a red journal that never left his side. Reporting never slept, and who knows when the perfect scoop would present itself? "There's five sightings here, and that's from the past week. We can track down those witnesses, see if we've got any cell-phone pictures that corroborate their claims." He paused, never liking when that particular look crossed his boss' face.

"I've got an idea, Ryuuzaki." Ryuuzaki winced, almost afraid at what would happen next. "We're going to follow Yami to this battle, and then write the ultimate article about this battle! A Domino Daily exclusive… make sure you've got your equipment all ready. Two days from now, we're going to make history."

Ryuuzaki gulped, a little upset about how this had become _their_ mission when it was originally _his_ story. Going up against the baddies even with a superhero to protect him seemed a little iffy—the guy was only human, right? They could traipse right into the worst part of the city and get bumped off just like that!

_And then we wouldn't be making history… we'd become ancient history. _

_

* * *

_

The newspapers had sold and the message had reached its intended recipient. Yami stood on top of the rooftop where he and Strings had fought only days before, the sun washing gold over the buildings as it sank over the horizon. He knew that this was possibly the worst decision he had ever made—facing off against the Rare Hunters on their own ground, but he had to go. This was his chance to settle things, once and for all—and to get the answers he wanted.

There was a rattle at the same fire escape and two dark-cloaked figures emerged; each at differing ends of the height spectrum. The hoods of their cloaks concealed their faces, yet Yami knew why they had come.

"_You will follow these two to our final location,"_ the mysterious voice again resonated through Yami's mind. _"You would do well to not attack them, for then you'll never get any answers."_ The connection severed abruptly, and as the Rare Hunters turned to go back down the metal staircase Yami silently followed them.

It was almost dark, and as they kept to the back streets, heading farther away from Downtown towards the harbor, they did not run into any others; Rare Hunters or otherwise. They threaded through blocks of buildings sheeted with corrugated steel, and the smell of salt and rust lingered in the air. They paused in front of a large building, and suddenly Yami found that he was alone. _"Open the doors."_ That voice again; commanding and insistent. Yami pushed open the sliding panel and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind him. Once he had done so, the overhead lights of the warehouse flickered on, showing rows of dark-cloaked figures. This time, their hoods were thrown back, revealing faces that were completely blank, their eyes glassy. A glowing wedjat eye was visible on each man's forehead.

The expansive warehouse filled with this immobile mass, this mockery of figurines and toys sent a cold shiver down Yami's spine. It was beyond disconcerting… this was wrong. "What's going on?" His voice echoed through the room.

He easily caught sight of the one moving man in the space; he also had the hood of his cloak thrown back, exposing his harsh features and spiked hair to his rival. "Allow me to introduce myself. Marik Ishtar, leader of the Rare Hunters. How fitting that you should know my name because once I take control of your Millennium Puzzle, you will join my army… and then your thoughts, words and actions will only be what I decide for you. Such is the power of my own Millennium Rod." He raised one arm, and clenched tightly between his fingers Yami could plainly see the glint of metal and the impression of the eye, not unlike his own pendant.

Yami looked down, where his puzzle rested securely around his neck. "How did you know about my puzzle?" He quickly glanced at the number of Rare Hunters in the room; there must have been at least two dozen facing off against him. He saw his two escorts join the ranks, assuming the same eerily still posture as the others.

"These Items can grant the wielder power beyond any imagination. One Item would never be enough—there are seven scattered throughout the World, and my organization has been searching for them ever since our inception. We must have gotten lucky, stumbling across you like this. You have barely scratched the surface of the depths of power achievable with these Items. A pity you'll never truly know…" Marik raised his Item higher, and in one swift movement each of the Rare Hunters snapped to attention, their dead gazes each directed towards one point—him.

"Let's see how you fare against a true master of the Millennium Rod!" With another motion his minions began to march, slowly but surely, towards Yami. Instinctively he glanced behind him, but was met with the cold door of the warehouse.

Reaching for his deck, he slapped down the first card—the power of his deck had never failed him yet. "…Kuriboh?" The small, brown puffball rolled in midair, its eyebrows furrowed in concentration as it surveyed its opponents, who were still steadily advancing towards him.

_This can't be happening! I've always been able to summon the right monster at the right time… why now of all times did my powers have to give me… this?_ Yami pulled the next card from the top of his deck, hoping that it would provide some inspiration. A combination attack? He gritted his teeth… it just might work.

"Multiply!" He called, watching with satisfaction as the single Kuriboh doubled, then quadrupled, and within seconds he had his own army to match Marik's. With a slight nod and a smile at the original, the Kuriboh attacked, ramming into the slow-moving Rare Hunters and knocking most of them over. The army of monsters swarmed the remaining villains, and in the ensuing melee Yami stepped through a small break, headed straight for Marik.

Understanding his intention, Marik raised his Millennium Rod higher, yet the Kuriboh continued to multiply, pouncing on each pawn until they all remained on the floor. "Don't you want to know more about how your Item works? There are mysteries that I have uncovered, and I'm sure that ours hold similar secrets…" His voice changed as Yami approached, becoming higher and more desperate. "I will not lose to you!" His Item glowed once again, yet Yami continued to approach, undeterred.

"You lost because you possess that Item for all of the wrong reasons," Yami spoke with surety, stopping near his adversary with eyes full of contempt. "Open your heart, Marik!" His puzzle glowed, and for a moment the golden wedjat eye shone bright on his own forehead.

"_MIND CRUSH!"_

The wave of light erupting from the puzzle overtook Marik, spreading outwards to envelop the entire room. Marik cried out in surprise, his eyes wide as he felt his very soul shatter, then once it was over he slumped to the ground, the Millennium Rod rolling out of his grasp until it stopped at Yami's foot. He picked it up gently, not feeling any aura emanating from the Item whatsoever. He turned, only then noticing that the Kuriboh had vanished, leaving each Rare Hunter unconscious on the floor. The two journalists who had been peeking through the door were also unconscious.

Now that it was all over, Yami allowed himself to smile in triumph at the scene. _Maybe I do know a little more about this puzzle than I had thought_.

* * *

Anzu always walked with purpose, but this time her pace would probably qualify as speed walking. It was almost midnight yet she couldn't sleep, not yet. It had taken her an hour of staring at the wall near her bed before it struck her.

Why, during all of her most important, influential, life-altering moments or revelations, did she think of Yugi?

The answer was so obvious she couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to her before.

He had always been there, at her side, loyal to the end—and perhaps felt a little stronger for her than she had before, but she was never very good at reading that sort of thing. Now, she found herself thinking about him far more than she had, perhaps… ever, and it had to mean something. She had to figure things out, once and for all.

For her pace of mind, if for nothing else. For love, if that little voice in her head could be relied upon.

She rushed to the back of the building and hurriedly knocked twice on the kitchen door. She could see a light was on in the house and after a few seconds Yugi appeared, opening the door for her. He was dressed in blue cotton pajamas and held a mug of tea in one hand. She was grateful he was still awake—she knew his grandfather was an early sleeper. All the same, Sugoroku could sleep through a hurricane but she was about to unleash a tempest of her own upon the Moto household.

Without any prompting Yugi reached into the upper cupboard and retrieved another mug, filling it with tea from a pot perched over the stove.

"So, I sort of almost…kissed Yami the other day," she began, instantly seeing it was the wrong thing to say by the way Yugi missed the cup and poured some of the tea onto the countertop.

"But… but I didn't," she hastily corrected, fidgeting awkwardly with her hands as he swept the area with a washcloth. "…Because, oddly enough, I thought of you."

Yugi remained silent, absorbing her words as he handed her the cup of tea, hating the way their fingers brushed for the longest of seconds, the resulting blushes and awkward pauses. Sure, he had been privy to odd tidbits of her love life—the toll for being her longest friend, and one he was willing to pay for the privilege of being her friend, but he wouldn't compromise that for anything. What was she driving at?

"…I know, odd, right?" She blew on her tea to cool it, hating how this was coming out all wrong, even though she had rehearsed it twice on the walk over. "But, I realized that I was counting on Yami for all the wrong reasons. The only person who has always been there for me, and always will be is… you."

Yugi very nearly choked on that sip of tea. "It might not work out… we might be meant to be just friends, but all the same I'd like to try. I like you, Yugi."

"_Like_ like?" Even in the darkness of their kitchen Yugi knew how red he was blushing.

"Yes, Yugi… I _like_ like you." She might have felt even more than that, but it would be hers to tell him later, in time. She took another sip of her tea, feeling very warm. For a moment they just stood in the kitchen smiling at one another.

"I have something to show you." He took a deep breath, then motioned for her to follow him downstairs, into the basement that was now fully empty of the boxes. Yugi was going to put in a notice for a renter the very next week, but with all that had happened, he figured he needed a base, a sanctum of sorts, a division of space where Yami could exist in his life separately from everything else. "I was cleaning out boxes and found a puzzle, like I told you the other day. But there's a little more to the story than that." He pulled open the desk tray and removed two items: his Millennium Puzzle and the infamous black scarf, and held them up for her to see. Anzu wordlessly took the puzzle as he folded the bandana and tied it expertly around his head.

"Ta-da…" he said, smiling expectantly. "It's me, Anzu." Through the slits in the fabric he saw her standing, unmoving, just _looking_ at him. He tried again: "…Anzu?"

She crossed the room and kissed him.

In that instant, Yugi's wish came true, and he understood why he had been the one to put together the puzzle, and just what the Item had given him. Yami had given him the strength that he never knew he had, and the woman he had always wanted. In that instant, he felt complete.

After they broke apart she reached up, gently removed the bandana from his face, and then kissed him again.

* * *

The next morning Yugi tended the game shop with the hugest smile on his face. He was taking Anzu to lunch today, which would make things official—he was dating Anzu Mazaki. Preserving justice in Domino and asking out the girl of his dreams, what was out there that he couldn't take on? He lifted his head up at the sound of the door opening, ready to greet each new customer that entered the store.

It was an odd man, odd even by Domino's standards, swathed as he was in a sandy-colored robe and turban. The cheerful greeting died on Yugi's lips as he took in this newcomer, who looked like he had come to this very store with a purpose.

"Are you Yugi Moto, possessor of the Millennium Puzzle and also currently the Millennium Rod?" His accent was vaguely familiar, although Yugi couldn't quite place it.

"Who wants to know?" He reached for the drawer knob under the cabinet where his deck was, just in case.

"My name is Shaadi, and I hold two Items much like yourself." He drew aside his cloak, revealing a large golden key hanging from a cord around his neck. "I have a task for you, Yugi Moto."

"What do you want from me?" Yugi eyed the man warily. Whatever it was, it could wait until _after_ his lunch date.

"You must reunite the Millennium Rod with its chosen user. Not that fiend Marik, who wrongly took control of the Item for his own gain. The Item knows its true master; you must restore that balance by finding the person to whom it rightfully belongs."

"…that's it?" Yugi blinked in surprise. …He didn't have anything else to go on?

"Your role as the hero of Domino is far from over, Yugi Moto," Shadi said, staring at Yugi as if he could see through to his very soul. "Your role as the mediator of the Items has only just begun." His robe swished against the floor as he turned to leave. It was only when the screen door rattled sharply against the frame that Yugi was jolted from his stupor. Well, _that_ was interesting. He turned to the clock, counting down the minutes.

He had a lunch date to get ready for.

* * *

_The End._

_

* * *

_

Omake:

"And the headlines will say: Intrepid reporter saves Domino, rounds up dozens of Rare Hunters." Haga spread his arms wide, visually diagramming an invisible newspaper in the air.

"Reporters; we were both there," Ryuuzaki glared from his position, seated in Haga's supremely uncomfortable leather 'visitor's chair.' He was beyond tired, and his head ached like he had been punched in the face.

"Yeah, but you don't remember what happened."

"Neither do you! You're just making it up."

"Exactly," The glasses on Haga's face shone once more, highlighting his triumphant grin. "We're making history, Ryuuzaki."

Omake:

"Remember this, Yugi, as this advice is more valuable than anything else." Sugoroku slowly turned from his chair at the dining room table to glance firmly at his grandson. "With great power comes great card games."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I can't believe the superhero genre hasn't been exploited to oblivion yet; it fits so perfectly. Yugi as the mild-mannered games geek; Yami as the superhero persona; and Anzu as the love interest just fits so well, yeah? Add in two bumbling reporters and a few mind crushes and you got a story.

A sequel to this could happen, as it is set up for one (like all superhero movies, there's always another one), and if it does get finished, I'll post it to this compilation, but expect other contest stories to get in before that happens. Look for Shadi making no sense and Kaiba in denial.

_Thank you for reading, and please review!_


	2. Fortuna Major

This is inspired by my classical archaeology classes, but with a healthy dose of artistic liberties for not only the pantheon but also the historical chronology… the Hellenistic period of the classical world is just too much fun to not include. Written for round two of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing _Mizushipping_: Priest SetoxKisara, with a side pairing thrown into the mix for fun. Happy Reading!

"Fortuna Major"

* * *

The boat had barely left the dock and already Priest Seto was vowing that he would never be late to a meeting again.

It was all Mahaado's fault.

Correction: It was all Mana's fault, but as she was Mahaado's pupil it was his responsibility to make sure that she didn't partake in spontaneous hallway foot-races in which he stood proxy for the finish line. It had caused him to be the last in attendance to the specially-called meeting of the palace high priests, meaning that he automatically was charged with the task that everyone else had convenient excuses for preventing their immediate departure to faraway lands.

He scowled at the sea, his reflection gone in an instant in the choppy waves.

Attending the festival of Nemea was supposed to be an honor. The retinue from the city itself had arrived that day, requesting the attendance of one of the priests to commemorate the occasion and the strong ties between each territory. And of course the pharaoh couldn't say no after that.

So here he was, on a journey that spanned practically the known world, to attend a damned athletic competition.

If it would have been appropriate he would have suggested that Mana attend.

All aversions aside, he supposed that in some way this might actually be viewed as a good thing. It was a change of pace, for certain. And he was representing the pharaoh himself, so he was sure to be treated with the respect he deserved.

The boat bobbed in the water, and Seto's stomach lurched with the sudden movement. He looked to the horizon and saw nothing but blue surrounding him. He resisted the urge to curse the water that was most definitely responsible for the pangs of nausea.

It was a good thing he didn't, however, as several members of the pantheon were watching the High Priest at that very moment, and they were known more for their competitive and quick-tempered natures than their reason or understanding.

* * *

"We all know he's thinking it."

"Well if he doesn't say it aloud then you can't interfere. Not allowed."

The gods tended to stay away from this particular corner of Olympus, as the quarrelling between these two never ceased and only increased in volume with time.

"…come on, mortal! Curse the waves, the boat, the seasickness, a seagull… anything!" The man who spoke thudded his fists on the edge of the table, his honey-colored locks swishing with the movement.

"Now, Marik, you know that you need probable cause to interfere in the life of this mortal." The other man crossed his arms and grinned, obviously pleased at the other's frustration. "If he doesn't cave in ten more minutes, then I win this time."

Marik grumbled, turning back to the center of the room and peering closely at the scene on the table between them, as if intense concentration could make him win their bet. He was on a solid losing streak today, and needed to do better—as the patron of the sea, he had nearly infinite gambling credit against Bakura, but it wouldn't do to cede his powers over to the deity of the underworld—the uneasy alliance they had profoundly affected the mortal world in ways that they couldn't begin to understand.

"What are you both up to? The usual—casting your lots and rolling your dice?"

The voice belonged to another, the newly deified patron of Fortune, who cautiously entered the space. The deity named Kisara was unique in that she was on friendly terms with nearly every member of the pantheon. She was also unique in that she was deified in a manner exclusive of all the other gods; she was exalted as a result of her own merit when a mortal, chosen to represent Fortune through her own valor. Perhaps it was a result of her attribute that she often sought out these two when they were in the middle of their games.

"Who is your victim today?" She joined them beside the table.

"Some priest on a pilgrimage… unfortunate man." Bakura shrugged, unconcerned.

Kisara leaned towards the image, her eyes taking on a sudden brightness. "His name is High Priest Seto, and he might not be as unfortunate as you are led to believe."

"I'm not in the mood for your prophecy." Marik frowned, moving his hands over the table, encouraging the waves to continue to swell against the boat. "Don't tell me you plan to follow Bakura's example."

The man in question scoffed at the unwanted attention—true, he had lured a young half-mortal into the realm of the underworld, but Ryou seemed content enough to divide his time between both worlds, taking the seasons as his cue.

"Let's just see what these mortals do."

* * *

The master of the vessel, a tanned Greek hailing from their destination of Nemea, approached Seto, who was hunched over the railing currently offering up the contents of his stomach to the patron of the sea. "How are you holding up?"

"…Fine." The High Priest immediately straightened upon hearing the voice, his mouth pressed into a firm line, his eyes shadowed by his headdress.

"It takes some time to get accustomed to the sea. We are at the mercy of the gods whether or not our voyage is smooth, and more often than not they choose to disregard our pleas." He sighed, shifting his weight between each foot. "But our boat is solid and our crew is steady—we can handle any wave! It doesn't matter what the gods throw at us, we'll always prevail. Even the god of the sea himself couldn't scare us."

In the skies above, Marik locked eyes with Bakura. "Did you hear that? Looks like I win this time."

"…On a technicality." Bakura shrugged it off, continuing to watch the boat's captain boast about his vessel to the unsuspecting priest. "Odds that you won't go down there and teach those unfortunate men a lesson?"

Marik grinned, already preparing to leap down upon the boat. "Slim to none."

Marik flew towards the water with open arms as if to embrace the salty spume of the sea, followed closely by Bakura who lurked behind, ready to clean up the mess and claim his due once Marik had his fun. "Speak of the devil and look—! He appears!"

The master of the vessel had frozen on the spot as if starting with his feet, he was slowly turning into stone from fright, yet while their attention was directed towards him, Seto quickly dashed to the front of the boat, spotting an island in the horizon that, with luck, the boat might wash up onto. He knew that the chances of the boat reaching its destination unscathed were slim to none, yet he wasn't about to die from the idiocy of some foreigner.

The High Priest was in the midst of securing a quantity of wood sufficient for flotation when he saw the shadow of the rogue wave, the column of water rising up to swallow their boat. He chanced a quick look back between the island off in the distance and the two responsible for their plight. As the tower of water collapsed under its own weight, tearing the vessel apart with its brute strength, Seto's mind was a jumble of collective thoughts, previously forgotten memories shaded by the one regret he had ever allowed himself to have.

* * *

Seto came to life in an instant—his entire body in motion as if compensating for the endless seconds spent buffeted by the waves, borne along against its will. Water pooled at his feet as he kicked at the sand, coughing as he slowly sat up. He thought he heard someone calling out to him, but he couldn't tell—half of the sea still resided in his eardrums.

"Are you alright? Can you get up?" The voice belonged to a woman; robed in layers of white fabric that blended into the spectral hue of her skin. "I saw that happened—you need to get out of the water."

She helped him stand despite his waterlogged protests, her sticklike limbs surprisingly strong. Once they were out of sight of the shore and on the main path she stopped to allow him to squeeze most of the water out of his clothes. His bangs were plastered to his forehead, and it was at that moment that he realized why he had felt so lightheaded.

He had only ever removed his headdress to cleanse or rest, despite Mana's speculation that it was permanently attached to his skull. Now that the headdress was gone, its weight bringing it to the bottom of the sea, he felt an uncomfortable feeling well up inside him. He was a High Priest! The symbols of his status often spoke louder than his own words when in the company of others. It was one of the rare times he did not know what to do.

"Where are we?" At last he found his tongue.

"The island of Crete," the woman said. "We're only a short walk from Knossos, our capital. My name is Kisara—I live on the island." She regarded him with curiosity, and Seto suppressed a twinge of annoyance—she was some village girl, and this was probably the most interesting event to happen to the island in recent history. "I'm sorry, but…what have you done to anger the gods?"

"It was nothing I did," he replied, brows furrowing at the implication. "I am on a journey to Nemea for their Panhellenic festival. Unfortunately, the boat has been destroyed, and its captain has been duly punished for his stupidity."

"Perhaps not so unfortunate," she beckoned for him to follow her down the worn dirt road.

"What do you know of fortune?"

From what he could see of her face, Seto thought that she was hiding a smile. "You'd be surprised. Now, what is your name?"

The walk to the capital took the majority of the afternoon, yet he was surprised at how quickly the time seemed to pass. His clothing dried with only a minimal trace of salt, the sun wasn't oppressively hot, and Kisara was reserved enough to let the time pass pleasantly enough.

"The city! At last!" She led him through the city's monumental gates; the red-painted columns rising impressively, almost appearing to disappear into the setting sun. They wound their way among the twisting paved stone pathways, past emptying shops and marble-clad meeting spaces, their destination the large colonnaded palace on the hill. Seto looked left and right, taking in the way that the flickers of light from the windows of the houses looked like stars.

He introduced himself to the vizier, the second-in-command of the island, who informed him that Pegasus, the island's ruler, was away—visiting the city of Nemea for a festival.

Seto scoffed. "That's where I am headed—as a priest from Khemet I request your hospitality, that you grant us lodgings for the night." They were shown into the palace proper, passing several elegantly outfitted banquet halls before arriving at what was designated their rooms on the second floor of the building.

"Why do you look so angry? Is your room not large enough?" She watched him shift his weight awkwardly between each foot, his pensive frown deepening at her question.

"We're on an island, Kisara. I need a plan in order to get to Nemea without being detected by the sea god."

"Do you always need a plan?"

He wanted to snap back at her; _of course you always need a plan!_ But the words died on his lips when he noticed that she earnestly, honestly meant it. She wasn't trying to bait him or insult him—she was merely asking a question.

He had always prided himself on the ability to read people—he gave much weight to initial impressions, and that talent had served him well in his life. Yet perhaps what he really needed was to look back to his rather humble roots, and this simple village girl was unknowingly bringing that to the front of his mind, where it rather stubbornly remained.

The most frustrating part was that he couldn't read her, couldn't predict her next move. Maybe she was right—did he really need a plan? Must one's motions be cast in stone?

"Goodnight, Kisara." He gave her a tightlipped smile, letting her know that on some level deep, deep down, he understood.

"Goodnight, Seto."

Kisara left the room and walked down the colonnaded hallway, pausing for a moment beside the threshold to her room just in case anyone was still around. The night was clear; the sky an inky blue dotted with pinpricks of light. From the veranda on the second story she could see across the entire city of Knossos and in the distance the sea beyond, only slightly darker than the sky. All of the palace's residents were asleep; the stillness seemed to pulse around her.

"Bakura… what do you want?" Her voice cut sharply through the silence.

He was leaning against one of the wide columns, his position making him invisible from anyone possibly in the open courtyard below. She hadn't seen him appear, but she had sensed him—they were always able to sense someone else in the business. He smirked at her, half of his face lit by the glow of the torch secured against the stone of the column.

"Do you have any idea of what you're doing?" He crossed his arms, his posture a caricature of indifference. "…he's a mortal, Kisara. You're taking a huge risk, helping him like this."

"Don't you dare speak like that!" She advanced towards him, fists shaking in anger at her sides. "You of all people—after all that happened with Ryou?"

Bakura regarded her with new interest. "…touché. But just so you know, I came here to warn you."

Behind her wispy bangs Kisara's eyes widened, shining in the half-light.

"Marik's been watching you from Mount Olympus," Bakura informed her without vocal inflection, as if they were talking about the weather or the menu for the evening's dinner. "He thinks that you thwarted his attempts to destroy the boat—to him, this is an open challenge. You're lucky that he's sleeping off a healthy dose of ambrosia right now, or else I wouldn't even be here."

"We need to get off of the island," Kisara mused, reminding herself of Seto's earlier comment.

"I just wanted you to know that he's watching you, and as soon as you're in his territory he's going to go after the mortal." He smiled grimly, her reminder of his own past troubles with one particular demi-god staying in the forefront of his mind.

"…Bakura, why are you doing this? Isn't the underworld crowded enough?"

He smirked, standing up straight and sauntering down the deserted corridor. "… Let's just say I have a lot riding on this one."

She smiled as he retreated into the shadows. "Thanks," she whispered to the void where he had stood not a moment before.

* * *

"You probably want to see how this place stacks up against your home, right?" Kisara's voice echoed in the vast hallway; its arched roof plastered over—in this part of the palace, away from the reception rooms and banquet halls, they had been left mostly to themselves. "That's why we have to see all of it. Besides, we have the time—it's still early."

Seto merely clasped his hands together behind his back and followed her along the path, lips quirking upwards into some semblance of a smile. It was a well-known fact that Seto could accomplish more in one morning than most other priests could in a fortnight, and he had been beyond surprised that Kisara shared his affinity for rising with the sun.

Their path forked and Kisara chose the leftmost tunnel, beckoning him to follow her. His patience for this outing was rapidly dwindling. "Do you know where we're going?"

"No."

"That's heartening." They had been exploring for the better part of an hour, and while it was entertaining enough, he really wanted to get back to the main level. They turned one corner, then another, descending a flight of stairs that opened up into a large, cavernous space.

"Have some faith, will you?" Kisara's head was craned upwards, taking in the enormous space. "There's nothing down here that can hurt us."

The telltale whoosh of wind in the subterranean chamber was too noticeable to ignore.

"Maybe there's someone down here…" Kisara walked farther into the room, stepping towards the darker patches of shadow layered on the smooth floors. Forming a cone with her hands around her mouth, she called, "is anybody home?"

Famous last words—Kisara saw _it_ too late to jump out of the way.

Fortunately, she didn't have to.

Seto saw the shadowy beast-monster-_thing_ appear from the wall itself and rushed to Kisara, nearly tackling her to get them out of its line of sight. Kisara felt all of the air rush out of his lungs, only to be met with a human cushion rather than the stone wall she had been expecting.

The monster screeched, sensing that it had missed its prey, and swiveled in their direction. Seto's eyes darted around the space, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, when he heard two distinctive voices approaching quickly from another hallway.

"That sounds like the shadow ghoul!"

"I know what it sounds like, you idiot!"

The voices sounded oddly distorted from the corridor and a little high pitched. They were probably not the sort of people you wanted to happen across while lost in a maze underground while also being threatened by some dangerous monster.

"Shadow ghoul! How did you get out?"

"_You_ probably let it out—I'm telling Pegasus when he gets back from the festival." The other one waved his arms for emphasis, the torch he was carrying casting a pool of light over the monster. It screeched again and began to back away from the light.

"Oh hey, Haga, we've got company."

"I can see that, I'm not blind." The man who spoke had large pieces of glass in front of his eyes, magnifying the feature in the torchlight.

"What are you doing here? We hardly ever get visitors in the lower levels." The other man had the tendency to keep shifting his posture, causing his long hair to be constantly concealing his own face.

"…we're not from here," was Seto's measured response. How else would one react if approached by two very decidedly _not_-normal tunnel dwellers?

"Figures," Haga scoffed. "If more people came down here, then maybe they wouldn't always be getting lost." His smile was not helping their case—these two couldn't be creepier even if they tried. Haga continued to bully the shadow ghoul away from them using his torch, and Kisara pulled herself to her feet by gripping a part of the rough-hewn rock wall.

"Thank you for helping us," she smiled at the other, eyes sparkling as if they withheld a secret. "My name is Kisara."

"R—Ryuuzaki." He blushed and then remembered that there was at least one person he could outshine. "And that idiot over there is Haga, but he's not as important."

From within one tunnel: "You're just jealous because I invented it first!"

Ryuuzaki shrugged, playing the good host while Haga finished rounding up the shadow ghoul. "He didn't," Ryuuzaki confided to them, his voice barely above a whisper. "He stole my recipe for quick-drying resin—we're using it to glue together large pieces of papyri. Come on, you should at least see our lab so you can boast to your friends that you know us when we become world famous."

"Yeah, and then help with some introductions—Ryuuzaki needs an intercession from the gods to keep a conversation going for more than three minutes—"

"Can it, Haga!"

They set off down the corridor. Seto could smell the faint aroma of wood burning, a nice change from the musty smell of the tunnels. Once again he paused, deep in thought—construction networks this advanced were only seen in palaces or necropolises in Egypt, yet the palace's place on the hillside suddenly made more sense to him. Some of these tunnels must have stretched across the city, or at least to the sea.

"Here we are!" Haga called, pausing before a simple doorway. Ryuuzaki tried to push past him. "I'll go first!"

There was a rustle of clothes and a knocking of elbows. "—No, _I'll _lead the way—"

Kisara glanced up, suddenly noticing that Seto was looking at her. She smiled sheepishly; he grunted and wordlessly waved her into the room, successfully navigating the squabbling duo.

Their laboratory, as they had so proudly dubbed it, was a little cramped but clean enough—several large tables were pushed to the corners of the room, upon which several large contraptions rested. A furnace heated the space; ventilating the smoke from the wood burning were several terracotta pipes attached to the ceiling. Myriad strange and curious objects were littered across shelves, and Kisara had to resist the urge to start picking up the items within reach to examine them.

"Is that your masterpiece, then?" Seto nodded towards the paper stretched between slight but sturdy-looking wooden frames, the sail-like shapes taking up a majority of the room.

"Yeah," Ryuuzaki replied, not quite pulling off nonchalance. "They're giant wings—we've flown them off of the mountains several times but they're still the prototypes. Let me tell you—Pegasus asks us to come up with some pretty strange stuff. There was this one time…"

He continued to tell the story, involving several bulls-head rhyta and an atrociously large stage background— "and then it crashed onto the stage during that terrible satyr-play of Euripides,'" Haga cackled gleefully, continuing where the other had left off.

Seto was no longer paying any attention to them—he had noticed that Kisara was giving him that _look_. If he had any less self-respect than he currently did he might have thought that he should fear that look. "What is it?"

She smiled. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

"If I die from this, I'm going to haunt you for eternity, you know that?"

"Relax. Don't you trust their craftsmanship?"

He chose not to answer, merely staring at the sea from their vantage point on the tallest peak of the island. Their plan was ridiculous…so ridiculous he actually had to give her some credit. He shifted, feeling the harness of the contraption resting around his shoulders. She had a similar apparatus attached, but she was insisting that he go first.

He was not about to place his life in the hands of this flimsy paper death-trap. Through some misguided sense of fortune he had managed to stay alive through this trip gone to hell, and now he was taking the ultimate plunge, in every possible sense of the word. He locked eyes with Kisara who looked so trusting, so honest—she believed in him. He just had to believe in himself.

He looked out at the wide expanse of flat terrain they had scouted on the slope of the mountain and gritted his teeth. He had probably done something more ridiculous in his lifetime—no, this was definitely the most ridiculous, incredibly stupid, smallest chance of success thing he had ever attempted in his woefully short life.

A second later the wind started to pick up, Kisara yelled at him to run and his feet swiftly left the ground. A minute later she was soaring too, slightly behind him, using the complicated switches built into each paper panel to gain altitude.

She said that they had to be high enough to be out of reach of the largest of waves. So they climbed through the sky, darting and weaving back and forth in the air. In that moment it would have been right to envy the birds for what they could have every day. He wondered what Egypt would look like from the sky.

The wind continued to lift them up and push them along, and before long Seto was nearly regretting when they would actually have to return to the ground.

A gust of wind drove Seto higher, but when the wooden frame started to tremble from the wind the rational part of his brain started to get just the tiniest bit nervous.

He heard the _crack_ a second later, and he knew that somebody up there had it in for him. The wooden frame of the right wing hung limply, and Seto was pushed into the air current without the support of the wings. Kisara had noticed the wing malfunction as well. Seto was currently holding the pieces together with one hand so the wing was spread out taut but it wasn't working; they both could tell. "Seto? Do you have a plan B?" Her voice mimicked the wind; uneven and shaky.

"I'm high up enough that I can glide down slowly—who knows, we could get there in time if the wind keeps up." She noticed his word choice and smoothly navigated to where she could glide beside him.

"I'm going with you, no matter what." After a moments pause: "You don't think one of these can handle two people, do you?"

"No." There was a toneless, definite finality to it. Slowly but surely, they began their descent.

It hardly surprised either of them to find Marik waiting for them as they floated downwards, a smug smile on his face. "I have to say that I'm amazed, Kisara. I didn't think you had it in you."

"You will not harm him." She moved between the two, her features fiercely set, every molecule of her being determined.

"…Kisara? What is he talking about?"

"You mean you never _told_ him? Oh, how unbelievable." Marik's laugh was low and insincere as he turned to Seto. "Mortal—you've become the catalyst of a fight amongst gods. I'm Marik, patron of the seas. And you know Kisara—the deification of Fortune. How useful that turned out to be."

In an instant, everything clicked. The small conveniences… their escape from Knossos… even the way she moved, talked, and acted bespoke someone far removed from a simple village girl. And worst of all was that he had fallen for it.

"You won't worry for much longer, mortal," Marik sneered. Raising his arms, a wall of water began to form behind him. With one swift motion of his hands, the water climbed and rushed forwards, passing through the deity as if he was one with the substance.

"No—!"

There have been moments in Seto's life that lingered on the boundary between the real and the extraordinary. The magic performed by Mana, the spell caster-in-training from Egypt; the day the boat had capsized from the wrath of a god; even one particular night in the desert in his youth that ended so, so terribly. Yet in one instant where there had been only empty air there was a large and _very_ corporeal dragon, scales glistening the color of the sea and the sky it hovered between. In another instant a blast of light had sliced through the water, causing the wave to pass by on either side of both Seto and Kisara.

In a third instant Kisara's eyes turned as cold as ice and a second attack from the dragon blasted Marik backwards into the water. "I said that you will not harm him." Even her voice was cold.

Then her composure dissolved in a weak smile. She moved to him and reached out with her hands, firmly enclosing hers around his own larger, calloused hands.

Seto looked at the dragon watching over them from a distance and felt the faint stirrings of a memory. "I've seen it before. I've seen you before. Kisara, why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry." She smiled at him and he was struck with the thought that it made her look sad. "You saved my life that night, years ago, and gave up so much in return—and ever since then I have been looking for a way to repay you. Now, as the deity of Fortune I can do that."

Kisara sighed—she had been preparing for this moment for years and it was still turning out wrong. "I'm sorry for not telling you who I was from the start. I just wanted everything to start over. I wanted a clean slate."

"…Are we even now?" His eyes kept darting to the dragon. It was majestic.

"No, I think that there's one more thing I can do." She led him over to the dragon, who shared the slightly disdainful composure that Seto was failing miserably to uphold. "…Come on, we have a festival to get to!"

They flew towards the green smidge of land in the distance. "The Peloponnese," Kisara breathed, "and Nemea. Right on time."

The countryside was beautiful, all rolling hills and rocky bluffs. The sanctuary was located at the edge of the city's walls and from their position he could see a large crowd already gathering to celebrate the start of the festival.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Seto whispered. "It's not exactly inconspicuous."

"Exactly," she laughed. "And this time, I have a plan."

The citizens of Nemea and those traveling to the festival pointed and gaped. He could hear their shouts of surprise as they descended onto the stadion racetrack. He couldn't believe it—they thought the dragon was a good omen, a sign for a successful and happy festival.

In the stands of the stadion, the crowd gathered around them and cheered.

"You see the riders of the dragon, the one with the blue eyes and white scales? Are they deities? Demi-gods? Heroes?"

"The girl is Fortuna—her likeness is on every coin in Sicily."

"Who's the man, then? He must be a hero, to make such an entrance!"

Their cheers filled the air and he felt their adoration lifting him up, making him feel freer, stronger, and prouder. No human had been deified since Kisara, but to the world it appeared that he was following in her footsteps. That day, Priest Seto became a hero.

After the festival, the white dragon with the blue eyes made a brief stop. High on the slopes of Mount Olympus, Seto felt distinctly out of place.

"You're a hero now," she grinned, "If you really wanted to, you could come live on Mount Olympus with me. It's something like deification by acclamation."

He took a moment to consider—for it was something to consider. "I don't know," he replied, his voice even and honest. "My life as a Priest, everyone back in Egypt—I'm not sure I want to leave all that behind."

"Have you ever heard of a compromise?" Bakura sauntered into the room with the self-satisfied air of a cat. "Six months there, six months here."

"You want us to follow your example?" Kisara's voice was incredulous, her eyebrows disappearing under her bangs.

"Why not?" Bakura folded his arms across his chest. "That reminds me, Ryou will be due to come back here any day now. And then I can collect on _our_ bet."

Seto turned to Kisara. "Do we even want to know?"

"It was about you both."

"Really?" She grinned. "Do you ever lose?"

"Never, I always win." He turned to leave them alone, bored with them for the moment. "Must be my good fortune."

* * *

**The End.

* * *

**

Author's Notes:

I hope that you got that Bakura and Ryou's back-story is that of the myth of Hades and Persephone. I think it's a sweet idea.

Haga and Ryuuzaki could also be known as Insector Icarus and Dinosaur Dedalus—other mythological figures. Back in the day, the fabled King Minos lived in the Palace at Knossos, and built his labyrinth there—complete with minotaur/shadow ghoul, so this just references that too—and the wings are also part of the Icarus myth.

I've studied both Knossos and the Nemean Games, which are an every two year ritual and athletic festival (similar to the Olympic Games, which were held at the sanctuary of Olympia), where people do travel from as far as Egypt to attend. I borrowed the Roman concept of deifying Fortune for this story, and thus Kisara became Fortuna.

The cool thing about the Hellenistic time period is that cultures started to really mesh, and people were borrowing different things they liked about other religions and cultures/ customs, so the Pantheon was a lovely jumble of all sorts of people.

Fortuna Major translates to 'Good Luck' or 'Good Fortune,' which ties everything together nicely.

_Thank you_ for reading, and _please_ review! I value and cherish each one.


	3. Like a Flower to the Sun

This is a modern AU, using the myth of Galatea and Pygmalion as a jumping-off point—it involves a sculptor, Pygmalion, who falls in love with his sculpture, Galatea, who is then turned to life and they go off skipping into the sunset. Alas, that is not how life happens. Written for round four of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Sealshipping: AtemxMahad, with a side ship of Vase: AtemxMana.

_"Do I have to tell a story  
of a thousand rainy days since we first met  
It's a big enough umbrella  
But it's always me that ends up getting wet_

_But my silent fears have gripped me  
long before I reach the phone  
And before my tongue has tricked me  
Must I always be alone"_

_—Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic_

* * *

She couldn't quite say what it felt like to spring into life—her first memory was simply of being; of the heaviness of her limbs and the clean, woodsy scent of the room. She twisted her head to catch the faint strains of music.

She was surrounded by shapes; the flat planes of the tables, the wide planks underneath her feet. Arcs of sunlight. The gentle curve of a tulip. She took one step, than another, as if testing the weight of the floor underneath her feet as they softly molded against the harder wood. She saw him enter the room, and she smiled at him. She knew who _he_ was.

"Hello!"

He started; his limbs jerking towards the door as if burnt. Yet he did not leave—at first it seemed as if it was _his_ feet that had become one with the weathered wooden floor. His eyelids closed and opened, closed and opened, and slowly they began to move towards each other. She matched him pace for pace, unsure whether it was from a natural inclination or mere curiosity. They stopped when they had arrived, face to face, in the center of the room. She had to lift her head to see into his eyes. They were wide but clear, the brows furrowed with concentration. If she didn't know him she might have thought he was nervous.

"You're…you're _alive_."

"Yes." She nodded her head slightly as if to check that it could still move. Her fingers flexed, each pointing to the corners of the room. When she spoke again her voice was troubled. "Should I not be?"

…

"Like a Flower to the Sun"

…

"And this is the kitchen—I really only have it for the property values of the place," his voice echoed in the high vaulted ceilings and his image reflected off of the steel and glass. Everywhere she turned, she found her image in duplicate. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out a hand, flinching slightly when her fingers rested on cool metal. "That reminds me, are you hungry? Do… do you want anything to eat?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she looked over the gleaming countertops to the living area beyond. He had shown her nearly every room in his possession, informing her that now that she was—alive, she could use any of these rooms as she wished.

Alive. Mobile. Neither of them had any explanations for why she was currently walking and talking and—to their minimal knowledge on such matters—every inch a normal human being. To her, it felt as natural as anything she'd ever known. She drank in each sight greedily, her eyes bright. Everything was so beautiful.

"And this is the studio, but you know that." Together they walked in a slow circle around the expansive space. Large drafting tables dominated the room, and shiny tools hung from pegs along one wall. Stacked cords of wood covered another, and on impulse she ran her fingers along one rough-hewn piece.

"Ow!"

It had caught on her finger. She brought it up to her face, fascinated at the single bead of red that formed unbidden next to an even tinier sliver of wood. Suddenly he was at her side, another glinting tool in his hand. With extreme gentleness he removed the wood from her finger. It hadn't really hurt at all—it was more surprise than anything else.

"I always keep tweezers around—in my line of work, splinters happen to me all the time."

She moved to the pedestal where she had once stood and hesitantly held up her arm to the burnished wood. The toffee of her own complexion blended into the grain of the platform. She looked up at him, who was studying her with an unreadable expression. "Do I have a name?"

"You can choose one for yourself if you want… but I always called you Mana."

"Mana," she tested it out, a smile growing across her face. "I like it." Suddenly, she rose. "What is _your_ name?"

"Atem."

He held out his hand to her, and she noticed that it was a similar color to her own. That was where the similarities ended—his hair was a tri-color shock while hers was the same brown as the wood she had been carved from. Walnut, if she had heard him correctly. After a moment she raised her hand, and he clasped it within his own. It felt solid and strong.

* * *

Mahad ran one hand across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat he knew were forming across his brow. It seemed that only two weeks away from the city was enough time for his tasks to quadruple, and at this rate, he would be looking at several more late nights this week.

At least he could relish in this responsibility—as the managing director of Wood Working Wonders, a nonprofit based around Domino that provided furniture to families in need, he had to check in on the piece Atem was donating for their upcoming gala. He supposed a phone call would have sufficed, but he was never one to miss an opportunity to visit his old friend.

Old friend—Mahad laughed as he quickly crossed the street in a rush of people anxious to maximize their own lunch breaks. He was Atem's _only_ friend—an honor bestowed by the fact that he was the only person willing to put up with him for extended periods of time.

It had started in college—the levelheaded architect forced into cohabitation with the haughty _artiste_—and his hall formed a betting pool with how long it would take before one of them snapped. Yet they tempered each other's worse qualities, and Mahad knew that he wouldn't be where he was today without him. It was Atem who gave him the start-up loan for his nonprofit and remained one of his most committed supporters.

Yet a small part of him, struggling for notice, continued to insist that the real reason he was where he was today was to stay in the life of the very man who put himself above such sublunary details as acquaintances or paying bills. Besides, he had enough of an inheritance from his wealthy late father considered by many to be the second coming of Tutankhamen himself. That in itself made his son something of a phantom pharaoh, shut up in his own ivory tower, content to turn wood and watch the world go by without him. Yet there was no denying that his creations sold. And Mahad would stay with him through good and bad, hoping against hope that he would look up one day and notice what had been in front of him all along.

Moving to the block where his apartment was, he couldn't help but notice that the leaves on the trees set against the streets were already changing colors—it would be only a matter of time before their leaves fell completely. Mahad stepped into the gleaming lobby of the apartment building, nodded to the attendant, and entered the waiting elevator. He thought it was rather obvious, but apparently Atem never suspected a thing. Yet, if this was where things stood, he would be content being his friend. He was probably the only one to be invited into his apartment, at the very least.

He rang the doorbell and stepped back, noticing again the intricate scrollwork on the oaken door, and the bird carved into its lintel, wings outstretched, captured in mid-flight. Mahad sighed, as always never quite ready to face the music. He quite literally wouldn't be where he was today _without him_, because he lov—

"Mahad! You have impeccable timing—we were just making lunch. Come on in!" He waved his friend into the faience-tiled foyer, not noticing the stunned look on his face from the many irregularities contained within that simple statement. Mahad removed his jacket and placed it onto a peg, his mind reeling. 'We'… 'making'… 'lunch?' Who was his friend entertaining, and why were they so important Atem thought that he had to put his hands to work in the kitchen rather than the studio?

He walked into the kitchen, noticing several lidded pots on the stove, being watched attentively by a young woman in a simple pink dress. She turned as they entered, glancing at him with curious eyes. He turned to Atem, unable to not notice how his attention was immediately re-captured by his guest.

Well, that settled his plans at any rate—Mahad felt something inside him curl inwards into itself, and he wished he could do the same. He turned to Atem, a spark of sadness lingering behind his eyes. It was, he knew, only a matter of time…

"I'd love to stay but I'm too busy for lunch. I'm only here to check on your progress for the sculpture you promised for 3W's charity gala."

"Oh… about that." Atem opened one of the refrigerator's shiny doors and retrieved a large bottle of juice—some organic fruit mélange that Mahad had never heard of. He poured himself a glass, his fingers running over the smooth finished surface of the tumbler as if to give himself something to do. "I had finished it, it's just…" He motioned to the girl. "Mahad, this is Mana. She is… was… the sculpture."

"You're joking."

Atem stared at him levelly over the rim of his glass.

"You're not joking."

At least with this news, that small part of him felt the tiniest bit better. He introduced himself to Mana, interested to get her take on the situation. "I suppose I should stay for lunch, then."

* * *

Mana liked to watch Atem work—the way that he created something beautiful from pieces of wood that others wouldn't even give a second look. Woodworking was a subtractive process—as he continued to work he removed pieces of wood, smoothing down each surface until it gleamed. It was a tricky process because it was easy to remove too much material early on. He mentioned that it was something like removing all of the wood that wasn't part of the sculpture contained within it—everything that didn't feel right. He was currently using a small metal tool with a y-shaped blade to groove out smaller lines around the sculpture, creating the illusion of fingernails.

"I'm calling this one the Fortune-Teller," he said, rubbing the tool against a small piece of leather, removing excess debris from its surface. "It's part of a series—you were the Dancer."

Mana wondered at that—was she really any different, now? Why say that 'she was' when, now, she should be living in a world of 'is?' She surveyed the finished products in the studio—smaller carved figurines of animals, and the larger sculptures of people. She had spent hours in this room, staring them down—but every time she was the one to break away.

"Why was I the only one who… changed?" She smoothed the fabric of her dress, removing the wrinkles.

He regarded her for several minutes. "Because… you're special." There was an unusual heat in his gaze, and it made her uncomfortable. She fidgeted for another minute, not quite knowing what to say. She supposed she owed him more than anything—she wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. Yet there was something that felt wrong in the way he rested his hand on her shoulder, and kept the blinds drawn, and jumped at any sounds from the adjoining apartment units. He had left once, to get groceries, when he thought she was sleeping—she had heard the snick of the door being locked, and then his footsteps echoing away.

She could see it in his eyes, and she had no idea what to do. She couldn't even define what _it_ was, and that frightened her too.

* * *

He had seized his moment after dinner; as Atem stacked their dishes by the sink Mahad gently guided Mana to the small terrace off of the dining room, one hand at her arm, another noiselessly opening the plate glass door.

They stepped into the night, the lights of the cars and the streetlamps mirroring the stars in their own microcosmic way—as above, so below. He smiled grimly—perhaps it was appropriate. "I brought you something." She smiled, and he counted it amongst the stars.

"Wow," she breathed, holding the miniature globe in her hands carefully. It was made up of multicolored stones; blue for the oceans and a different color for each other landmass. It could fit in the palm of her hand. "Where are we?"

"Domino is right there," Mahad pointed to a red sliver of land set into a wide expanse of blue. He noticed how her finger mirrored his, yet it was so slender and small. Even her fingernails were delicately sculpted.

"There's so much of it," Mana turned the globe gently, running her fingers over each surface. "How much have you been to?"

"I was born in Egypt," he pressed his finger to the yellow shape when it spun into view. "But I've been all over."

Her fingers danced across the smooth surface from Japan to Egypt. He could see the downward tilt of her brow and the slight dip in her shoulders and knew that her thoughts mirrored his own. They wished it was that easy, to span ten leagues in a single step.

"I don't understand." Her voice was quiet then, and he had to strain to hear her. "He said that the world is dark and dangerous, that it's not a place for me. Yet, I've never wanted anything more in my life. I—I don't know what to believe, what I'm feeling…"

His heart clenched because he _did_ know; he saw it in his old friend's eyes. He would take her place in an instant, to spare any pain in her awakening eyes. If only it were that easy.

"Are you happy?"

Her question caught him off-guard. He smiled at her, and thought that maybe she could tell that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, I suppose I am."

* * *

Atem had knotted his tie and eased his arms into the dinner jacket when he heard her approach him, her thin form backlit from the ceiling fixture. "Where are you going?"

"There is a…function, that my presence is required at. I won't be long." He sat on the small hallway bench and laced up his shoes; black, to match his creased slacks. The tie was an iridescent gold.

"Can I go with—"

"Mana, you know you can't."

"I _don't_ know that!" They each breathed in the silence. She watched him slowly stand up. "…_you_ know that."

"Mana." He walked to where she stood, eyes wide in the half-light, and gently put a hand on each shoulder, and under his gaze she was once again immobile. "You must stay here. Domino is no place for someone like you."

She felt shivers run down her spine. "But I want to go."

"No, you don't. I created you, and you will do what I say. _I_ want you to stay here." She flinched away from his hand as he raised it to pat her gently on the head, then he was gone. Mana found the thickest blanket she could find and swaddled herself in it, imagining the straw-colored threads as a nest to protect her from the world. She huddled inside the blanket until her shivers had gone away, and then when it became almost intolerably hot she remained, and wondered if this was what Egypt felt like.

Mahad made his rounds, remarking to all the right people and sipping absentmindedly from whatever concoction was in his glass. This was, as they said, _his_ party—the gala was in full swing, which meant that the fashionable were still arriving, but he was glad to see them, if it meant that more families had basic necessities such as a place to sleep and a table to eat from. The phrase 'put food on the table' was spoken so many times, he told one group, that everyone forgot that some were left without both, and it was a tragedy.

He heard whispers as the crowd parted like a bubble breaking the water's surface and Atem emerged, not engaged in his surroundings at all, a half-empty wine glass already in his hand.

"Atem! Don't you know its bad manners to out-dress the host?" Mahad gently touched his shoulder in greeting, leading him more fully into the banquet hall he had reserved for the night's event. He glanced over his shoulder, noticing the absence of Atem's closeted protégé. "The response from your most recent work has been astounding—I must thank you for such a generous donation."

"Of course." His voice, like his thoughts, were far away. If but for one twist of fate his Mana would be here, auctioned off to the highest bidder. He raised his glass, as if toasting his friend, and finished the drink.

Mahad left him soon after, plied with food and drink to start the ceremonies. Atem's sculpture was the last item on the agenda to auction, and once it had sold, for a high price amidst a smattering of applause, Mahad ascended the podium again. "Thank you all for attending and supporting such a worthwhile cause. We're at 80% of our fundraising goal for tonight so please give generously, and continue to enjoy yourselves." In a streamlined transition, a jazz band started to play behind him, providing background music to those still lounging beside the buffet tables and the bar. A space had cleared in front of the podium where several couples were dancing.

"Enjoying yourself?" He approached Atem, who was leaning against a small round table cluttered with empty glasses set up in an alcove. They could faintly hear the music but were out of sight of all of the other attendees, which was why he supposed his friend had chosen this spot.

"I suppose I am." He tilted the glass in his hand towards the sky. "Mahad? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything." He smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. Now that his role as host was nearly over, the customary nerves seemed to have melted away.

"We're friends, right? So you'll give me the truth?"

Mahad cleared his throat, settling for looking at Atem's shoulder. "…yes, we're friends."

"Mana's… changing, and I don't understand why. She shouldn't want to leave! I keep catching her staring out the window, counting cars… she was at the terrace all night yesterday even in this weather, and I don't want her getting sick. Is it something I've done wrong?" He peered into his glass, as if dissatisfied of its emptiness.

"You can't think of her as a sculpture anymore, Atem," Mahad gently reminded him. "She has the freedom to make her own choices now—and how can she make the best choice for her if she has only been shown one way to live?"

They took a minute to listen to the jazz band—the music was mellow and soft. "I'm glad, at least, that you want to make things right," Mahad continued. "Taking responsibility for your actions is the first step."

Atem scoffed, rolling the sleeves of his starched button-down shirt. Despite the chill outside, the room inside was sweltering and he had quickly left his suit jacket at the coat check. "You're one to talk. What have you taken responsibility for lately?"

"I'll take responsibility for _this_." Before he could react, Mahad reached out and pulled Atem by the collars of his shirt towards him and gently, fleetingly, kissed him. When he didn't react Mahad pulled away and released him, offering up a sad smile before turning to leave.

"Wait." Atem's hand was on his arm, turning him back towards him. Time to face the music. "You leaving is not taking responsibility for anything." He arched one eyebrow at Mahad, as if daring him to say anything else. "Now, you will come back here and we will try that again."

Mahad closed the distance between them again. "Some friend you are," he whispered; eyes shining, all smiles.

* * *

Mana hadn't heard anyone enter or leave the apartment but apparently someone had, and they had made tea. She helped herself to some, hugging the ceramic vessel to her chest as she stepped out to the terrace, shifting her blanket around her shoulders as she was hit with the mid-morning chill.

Something was different about this time, and she soon figured out why—flakes of white had dusted the floor and ledge, and she tilted her head back, impulsively smiling against the snow that tickled her face and melted in her hair. The first snow of the season—Atem had told her it would happen soon.

She looked out over the ledge and saw the crowds of people below her mimicking her earlier motions; faces tilted upwards to watch the marvel of the snow. It only stayed that perfect for an instant, in its fall, before landing and turning back into water—on the streets, on the ledges, on each smiling face.

In its fall it was beautiful.

She looked out and tried to memorize it all, from the cars to the buildings to each and every flake. When she turned away she knew that the last image would stay with her forever, of each and every person smiling, their heads lifted back to catch the snow, faces tilted like flowers to the sun.

She dressed and went back into the kitchen; only then noticing the stack of bills left on the countertop, kept in place by a slender golden key. Mana raised her head and smiled, thanking Atem.

She supposed that Mahad should be thanking her—he would take her place and she was glad for it. She lifted a small globe out of her pocket, tracing the lines of land her fingers already knew so well. If only it were that easy. Sometimes, it was.

The countertop cleared, the key felt oddly heavy in her hand—she supposed it was the weight of his trust in her. He let her go, but she knew now that she always had a home there. She fitted the key into the door and turned the handle, easing it open. She took a last minute to look back, seeing the studio through another open door, before letting it close behind her. Mana made her way to the lobby of the building, firmly put both hands on the plate glass door, pushed it open, and went outside.

…

The End.

…

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed reading this. I really wanted to write a story, you know? People making mistakes and learning from them, people doing things for reasons no one else can understand, and for some reason every time I write Mana she's growing up in some way. Also, there's this really nice So You Think You Can Dance group routine that partially inspired this piece set to the song that I took my opening quote from. As always, _thank you_ for reading and _please_ review, I value and cherish each one.


	4. From Your Secret Admirer

This story is like looking at the characters through a distorted funhouse mirror—I hope that you take this lightly, especially the wacky pairings: RyuujixIshizu and RishidxIshizu. I tried really hard to make them not boring. Also, this story takes place in a world without Millennium Items.

"From Your Secret Admirer"

* * *

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any self-respecting woman occasionally prone to excesses of food and drink owns a pair of eating pants. Something with an elastic band and usually dark-colored to be all the more slimming, it is a silent weapon in her arsenal.

Ishizu Ishtar was exceptionally grateful that she was wearing those pants, a dark cotton cleverly disguised as business attire with two vertical pleats running down each leg, at the most recent opening gala for the Domino Museum's newest exhibit. Several times a year the Museum's curators dragged out items from the dusty climate-controlled racks of storage and refashioned it into a new collection, putting an economy ribbon and bow onto it and then throwing a lavish party to celebrate the occasion. It was one of those things she never really understood.

As one of the associate directors of the Museum, she could get away with inviting _two_ guests, and Marik and Rishid followed her around like baby ducklings; Rishid munching on food from the buffet spread and Marik pawning off the food that he tried but didn't like onto her plate. Once, when she had attempted to turn the tables on him, his mouth had twisted into a wry smile and he had murmured, "I can't spoil my girlish figure." Then they had laughed, and somehow all of that food had still ended up on her plate. She could never refuse him.

As Ishizu was turning back towards the stage amidst a smattering of applause—it seemed that everyone wanted to say a few words or propose a toast—she smacked into a dark suit that had definitely not been there before. She blinked as the contents of her plate tumbled gracelessly to the floor, meeting the eyes of the wearer of the suit with a newly defiant sharpness. Of course it was his fault, and she should tell him that right away—

But, much to her surprise, he had bent down and quickly scooped up the strawberries and almond biscotti, giving her an easy smile that she deciphered as _I'll take care of it; it was my fault anyway for being so careless_, before disappearing into the crowd. She stared at his retreating figure as Marik eased his plate in-between her outstretched hands. "Is that who I think it was?"

"Who?"

"Ryuuji Otogi—he's the inventor of Dungeon Dice Monsters. Aren't they one of the sponsors for the new exhibit?" Marik watched the suit weave through the crowds, stopping to chat with some of the other partygoers every now and then. "He's also disgustingly rich," Marik added, as if an afterthought. "Why would he pick up food from the floor? Unless… you should go talk to him!"

"Marik—don't think I don't see what you're after. If you want more money, go earn it yourself—not by taking it from wealthy prospective in-laws."

"Rishid—go with her, you'd make a much better wingman than me any day. You promise to look out for her?" Marik's voice was playful, but Rishid nodded seriously, adding it to the list of other promises he always kept. Protect them always, make sure they're both happy, and never mix the whites and the colors in the laundry—a purple sock had turned Marik's favorite sweater a light lavender color, and in revenge Rishid's sleep shirts were streaked with blue.

"Besides, I've got a hot date right here." Marik batted his fingers in the direction of the buffet-table. "Have fun, kids."

"Can you believe him?" Ishizu murmured over a plate of half-eaten shrimp as she and Rishid meandered through the crowds.

"I'm sure he has only your best interests at heart." Ever solid, ever impassive—that was her Rishid. She never had to second-guess him like she had to do with Marik. One was full of surprises, the other full of strength. Well, a blessing on them both.

"He has a different kind of interest in mind… like the interest of his bank account." They stopped at the fringes of a crowd blocking their progression around the room. A large group of women were huddled around a figure who was loudly retelling a story in a slow, yet carrying, drawl, as if stretching out each word to its fullest.

"…And that was how I saved that elementary school from being destroyed by fire." Ryuuji Otogi looked across the circle, his green eyes sparkling at the newest addition to his circle. "Ah! Please let me apologize for bumping into you just a moment ago, Miss…?" She couldn't miss the quick, curious glance to her companion.

"Ishizu Ishtar. And my… brother, Rishid." She usually went with the easier explanation—it was not really the ideal topic for small-talk. The group of women started to disperse, now that his attention was no longer on them.

His smile eased somewhat at the mention of the brother. "It is such a pleasure to meet you, Ishizu! I couldn't help but notice that your name seems very familiar—are you by chance one of the Museum employees responsible for this occasion?"

She nodded, flinching away from him as he took the familiarity a little too far, placing one hand delicately on her shoulder. "You all at the Museum really know how to throw a party! And the exhibit, I'm sure, is also second to none."

"Why, thank you—"

She had barely gotten a word out before he continued, name-dropping a few other of her colleagues that he knew from some other event, subtly mentioning his company in the midst of it all. "…and I would be honored, Ishizu, if sometime you would visit me at DDM. I would give you a personal tour of the facilities."

She cast her eyes down at the scraggly shrimp peel on her plate. Feeling more than a little repulsed by the way his hand was inching around her shoulder, pulling her a little closer to him, she imagined him as the shrimp, the fan of its tail the spiked strands of hair framing his face. It didn't help. "Maybe… sometime."

"Fantastic. Let me give you my card." Coolly he slipped a small white business card with holographic dice into the pocket of her blazer, then winked at her and slipped away into the crowd, loudly greeting some other acquaintance.

Ishizu looked over at Rishid, who appeared to be stunned into silence, his eyebrows slanted downwards. If she didn't know better, she thought he looked angry. She herself was too embarrassed to say much of anything.

"Well? How'd it go?" Marik appeared, a clear tumbler of punch balanced on top of his plate, garnished by half-eaten pastries.

Ishizu took the cup from him and took a long sip. She needed fresh air, and also maybe something a little stronger than punch.

* * *

The blazer went back into her closet and was completely forgotten until a week later, Rishid and Marik decided to go to the Dungeon Dice Monsters company store—its fifteen minutes of retail fame were not yet over in Domino, and it was still all anyone could talk about.

Marik was busy playing a demo of the game with some other boy with quite distinctive hair when a voice startled him—that same measured, confident drawl from the gala. "I remember you. Ri—something."

"Rishid." He eyed the man warily, as if assessing a potential threat.

"Of course you are. Listen—could we talk? In private?"

Ryuuji led him through an automatic door labeled 'employees only' and into a small break room, empty at the moment except for a few armchairs. Ryuuji gestured to a chair by the corner, choosing one for himself with a dice-patterned fabric. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Why don't you tell me what you want?"

"Your sister."

Rishid certainly hadn't expected him to be that direct so he was not ready at all for the answer when it came. He sat there for a few seconds and at first believed that Ryuuji had said nothing at all. Ryuuji didn't let him hold on to that illusion for long, continuing, "You've got to help me. I've never met anyone quite like her."

"Well, there's no one quite like her." For a moment, Rishid's eyes appeared dreamlike and unfocused. Snapping back to reality, he glared at Ryuuji. "I know that she doesn't like you. You're wasting your time."

"That's why you have to help me! You can teach me everything I need to know—her favorite colors, her favorite foods…"

"It's more than that." Rishid closed his eyes and briefly imagined himself away from the loud-colored commerciality of the room and to another one, dark and sandy and hiding something away from the world. He allowed those walls to come crashing down, revealing to him the woman that he admired so much. More than admired—he cared for her deeply. "You can't buy her—but she won't come cheaply. You've got to be selfless, to put her before yourself. You have to be someone she can trust. You can only see into her soul if you let her into yours first." A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"That was just what I needed! For a quiet guy, you know exactly what to say."

"I still won't help you." Rishid wanted nothing more than to leave this tiny, cheery closet of a room.

"And why not?" Ryuuji had his best corporate game-face on. This was the face that closed deals, the face of success, and the face that made women swoon.

"You won't make her happy."

The face crumpled under the accusation. "You don't know that." Sensing an opportunity at Rishid's reluctant silence, he tented his fingers, resting his chin on top of them. "You have to give me at least that chance. Three dates—that's all I'm asking for. Coach me through the first three dates and then I'll be out of your hair…err, so to speak." He smirked, covering up the faux-pas with the pleasing thought that by date three, she would be his anyways, in their relationship for the long run. It was statistically proven. And Ryuuji liked statistics that proved the points he was trying to make.

"That is, assuming you can get even a first date."

"You have so little faith in me. You're forgetting that I'm Ryuuji Otogi. Now, will you help me or not?"

Rishid wondered briefly if it was worth it starting a fight in a break room of a major corporation with said corporation's chief executive. He was pretty sure he could take him. But he did have a point—all he wanted, all he ever wanted, was for Ishizu and Marik to be happy. If she was happy with Ryuuji, who was he to challenge that?

* * *

That day, Ryuuji left work early and headed directly for the Domino Museum, dropping a thick white envelope onto the secretary's desk, at that moment fortuitously vacant. Ishizu's name was written on it in black marker; there was no return. He left, turning the corner and stopping to listen to the exchange when the secretary returned to her station. He heard what must be Ishizu's office door close behind her, and he clenched his fist, oddly pleased with himself that his first mission had gone so successfully.

"She always has to know everything," Rishid had told him, memories of how any predictions she made nearly always came true because of how much she craved information weaving through his mind. "Leaving her mysterious letters will get her attention."

"I can barely even read my own handwriting," Ryuuji said, pacing the length of the break-room.

Rishid sighed, motioning for him to find some paper that didn't have a DDM Letterhead embossed onto it. "You dictate and I write."

Ryuuji found several blank sheets of paper in the bottom drawer of a desk in the adjoining room, placing them before Rishid. Immediately, he launched into a passionate monologue, not even stopping to catch his breath or to see if Rishid was having trouble getting it all down on paper. "Ever since the first time I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the one. Ishizu—even your name is like the chiming of a thousand bells! Your eyes shined that night, and I want to see them sparkle for me."

Rishid's pen hovered just over the creamy white paper. This was all wrong—he knew right away that she wouldn't take any of his ramblings seriously. He couldn't write the impassioned yet inarticulate confession Ryuuji was pouring out to the corners of the break-room, so he began to write his own. Sentences sprang from his mind onto the paper, and his pen flew as he sought to capture in words everything he had never been able to say. Everything he had always wanted to say.

"Then sign it, your secret admirer." Ryuuji looked over at him, pleased to see the page covered in writing. "I'll deliver it and you will try and get her to talk to you about it."

Rishid stood up, sealing the letter in a white envelope and writing her name clearly across the top. "I've got to get back to my brother; he was playing one of your games and I don't want him to think that I disappeared."

"Don't worry about it," he replied dismissively. "Dungeon Dice-Monsters games are known to last for hours. He's probably still playing his first game."

* * *

He immediately noticed the lightness with which Ishizu entered their apartment, easing out of her shoes, carefully hanging her coat on the hook beside the door. "You look happier," Marik said from his position lounging over the side of their worn couch, making the statement seem more of an accusation. "What happened at work today? Someone die and bequeath all of their money to the Museum?"

Ishizu merely smiled, deciding that right then, it was a secret that she'd keep to herself—at the moment it was a lightness, not a burden. "I just had a good day. What about you? Don't you have any work to do?"

She didn't even wait to hear his "no," instead moving to the small kitchen to reheat their leftovers from the previous night's dinner. It was only afterwards when Rishid was helping her wash and dry the dishes did she decide to share.

"You're going to think this is silly… but I got a letter today." He caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glossy surface of the plate, memorizing her apprehension, her excitement. He had only ever seen her like this on special occasions, or in the instant before he opened a present that she had gotten him.

"A letter from the Museum?" He tried to keep his voice casual, baiting her even though he knew exactly what was in the letter she had received.

"No… a different kind of letter."

"But a good letter?"

"A very good letter." She passed him another plate to dry. His hand briefly closed over hers as he took the dish, and he wondered how hands that could hold so much could be so smooth.

* * *

"I think this letter should have a way for her to write back," Ryuuji pressured. They were once again at their stations, Rishid armed with pen and paper.

"I don't know… maybe you should wait until next time. Besides, what if she watches it to try and figure out who you are?" Rishid couldn't bear the idea of her writing back to anyone other than him—that anyone else could read the words that were really meant for him. The letters that Ryuuji delivered week after week were written by him, and as Ryuuji began to pontificate over the lustrous sheen of her hair and the pearly quality of her teeth, Rishid penned his own wishes.

…_and at least I can take solace in knowing that although I'm not yet brave enough to give you my name, I would give you my heart, and the world if it would make you happy.I hope that you think of me often, but not too often. All will be revealed in due time…_

He signed it _Your_ _Secret Admirer_ and folded it into thirds, sliding the letter into an envelope and carefully writing her name across the top.

"How should I tell her? You know, that it's me?" Ryuuji waved the finished letter in the air as he spoke. "I want to be me… you know, the me that she's been reading in the letters."

"Then be you." Rishid stood up to leave. He wanted to end this charade—to both of them. If there was anything Rishid valued above all else it was his word. Words had power, but only as much as the person who spoke them. And in that moment, he didn't feel very honorable.

* * *

"Do you hear that?" Marik cocked his head towards the window, his ears catching first the faintest strains of music.

"Music? Is someone outside?" Ishizu got up from the couch, setting the newest edition of _Museology_ aside and throwing the latch on the window, pushing it upwards. She leaned her head outside as she saw him approaching. "Wait… is that… Ryuuji? What are you doing?"

Ryuuji stood outside their window; even though their apartment was on the second story he could see her quite clearly, backlit against the lamps of their great room. He hefted the stereo he was holding over one shoulder, twisting a dial on it to make the music even louder.

"Ishizu, I want to ask you something." He paused, tilting his face up towards her. "Have you liked my letters?"

"You wrote them?" Her voice was soft but he still heard her, moving closer to the window with each word. "Thank you…I don't know what to say…"

"Say yes! Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night, and prove to you that I mean every word in each letter!"

The snap of twigs caught his attention, and he in the shadow of a large tree to his right he saw Rishid approaching, his whispering safe from Ishizu's ears by the stereo. "Are you crazy?"

"…Maybe." Ryuuji tried to mask the words with a smile. "But it's working! Go back inside!"

"Why can't you prove it to me now? I don't feel like you left a very good first impression that night at the gala."

Ishizu ducked her head back inside the room to tell Marik to give her some privacy, and Ryuuji took the opportunity to move a little closer to the tree. "She wants me to prove something? What should I say?"

"If you start to falter, or she doesn't look convinced, I'll feed you some lines."

"Do you think it will work? I mean, you're her brother."

"Brother in name but not by blood—we're not related at all."

Standing in the clearing, exposed between the two not-quite-siblings and hoisting the stereo over one shoulder, a small part of him understood what was really happening. The larger part of him, however, wanted to ignore reason, to ignore all of the signs. He still wanted the chase; he still wanted to win her over. And besides, he couldn't exactly leave now, not when he had come this far. He heard Rishid's whispers just barely over the music.

"I wanted to talk to you… I thought that the perfect time would be at the gala. I gathered up every last ounce of courage that I had—and then when I bumped into you and sent your food flying onto the floor, I couldn't say anything. I couldn't even apologize."

Getting braver, Rishid felt himself lean in towards the clearing. He wanted her to see him, but she didn't have eyes for him. Not then. Not anymore. "Because honestly, Ishizu, words fail me when I'm around you. That's why I had to write the letters. I had to say something in the only way that I could."

Rishid saw the smile he always imagined being directed at him, and slowly he began to inch away from them, back inside. She was happy—she didn't need anything else from him.

He walked down the hallway to see Marik peeking out from behind the doorway, one hand cupping his ear as he strained to hear what was being said outside. His eyes lit up as he saw Rishid walking by. "Ishizu's got game!" He whispered excitedly.

Rishid only smiled sadly. They all accepted that he was the strong and silent one of the trio, but he never stopped to think that maybe he was silent in order to stay strong. That maybe he wanted to tell her more than anything except for the words that always seemed to get in the way. What he wanted to tell her was so little, only the smallest of words, yet wasn't it the smallest things that meant the most?

* * *

"I want to thank you for giving me another chance," Ryuuji smiled warmly at her from across the table. He was truly enjoying himself, one of the rare times since he had arrived in Domino. The city was made up of layers and he had a hard enough time clawing his way to the top. The waiter returned the check to them, Ryuuji's credit card bearing the DDM logo peeking out of the top of the leather jacket.

"I should be thanking you—you were persistent, and I had judged you without getting to know you. But your letters, and the way you talked to me last night—there's always more than what we see." She watched as he signed the receipt, his name a messy scrawl of flourishes and slanting script, and they left the restaurant, Ishizu promising to call him later. "After all, I still have your card in the pocket of my jacket from the gala."

He laughed, partly in remembrance and partly to cover his embarrassment. His charms usually worked on any girl he set his sights on, but she was the first to be dissuaded. It was refreshing, and made him want her even more. It was what caused him to seek out Rishid's help so desperately.

Ishizu locked the door behind her when she arrived back at their apartment, one thing on her mind. Leaving on her dress and not even starting to remove her jewelry, she opened the dresser drawer where she kept the letters, now creased and folded from multiple re-readings. She spread them out on the dresser, her mind's eye recreating his signature. Yes—it was possible for a signature to be different than one's everyday script, and besides, love-letters should be written legibly. But everything fell perfectly into place in her mind when she noticed the cards that she also kept in that drawer. One had fallen open, a birthday card from the year before.

She knew it was Rishid who always wrote the message on the cards; it was his perfectly even handwriting that stretched across the brightly colored paper. She held up the card beside the most recent letter, slightly ashamed that she didn't notice it before. Just what was going on between Ryuuji and Rishid?

She found him alone in their living room, reading a play; eyes tired in the light cast by the large ceiling lamp. She marched up to him, in no mood for silence or cryptic replies. "Explain."

He took the card and letter that she had offered to him, feeling the weight of each in his hands. "I didn't want to help him, but he told me to wait and see if he made you happy. So I offered to write the letters for him, but I added a bit more than what he meant to include in them. I just wanted to be able to express what I've never been strong enough to say. Now I see though, that being with him makes you happy, so that will have to be enough for me."

"Is it enough?" Her voice was small and still in the semidarkness of the room.

"Not anymore." He reached out and clasped her hands within his own, gently pulling her to sit beside him on the couch. They stayed that way, neither speaking, just breathing in that living silence that at that moment was enough.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

The next morning Rishid found Ishizu at the kitchen table, cup of coffee untouched, a pen in her hand only beginning to trace out words on a blank piece of paper. "I'm writing a letter. You should know that, though—you're something of an expert on the subject."

"Who is the letter to?" He watched her neatly fold the paper into thirds, then slide it into an envelope. She slipped in a small holographic business card before sealing it shut.

"Ryuuji Otogi." Task finished, she sipped at her coffee, watching tendrils of steam swirl up from the surface of the liquid.

"And is it a… good letter?" His heart was pounding in his ears, it was a wonder she couldn't hear it too.

There it was—the smile. "For you it is a good letter. A very good letter." She gently took his hand in hers and squeezed. The action made him smile too. It felt natural, and right. It felt happy.

Later that week she was doing their laundry, checking each pocket for loose change and anything that didn't belong in the washing machine, when she found another letter. Written in the same even hand. Telling her everything that he just couldn't say. Not yet—but he was working on that. And at the very bottom of the page he had signed it:

_Love, Your (not so) Secret Admirer._

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes: Written for Round Six of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Xenoshipping: RishidxIshizu. This was a strange little idea that I got at the absolute last minute after I had already started a perfectly normal rom-com about love and awkwardness and how-do-you-know-that-they're-the-one? But this idea prevailed. It's based off of _Cyrano de Bergerac_, a French play that is very sweet and funny! I just see both Ryuuji and Rishid as characters that are mature in some ways but still very immature in others, and wanted to show them growing in some small way. And Ishizu seems to me to have one foot in the past but also is still very much a modern woman, who has to deal with her crazy (brother) family! _Thank you_ for reading, and _please_ review—they mean the world to me.


	5. The Alchemist

Although this is inspired by _Full Metal Alchemist_ (and also fairy tales!), this is not a crossover. Just that instead, the magic of the series has been replaced by alchemy. Written for round eight of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Bananashipping: MarikxHonda. When Marik's alter shows up or is the one in control, you'll know. Beware of alchemist!Ishtars, smalltown!shepherd!Honda, and my rapidly diminishing physics knowledge. I've seen about a dozen movies in the past three days, so a part of me wants this to read something like one.

* * *

"The Alchemist"

"Tell me the story of the Millennium Necklace, Ishizu," Marik asked his sister one night, snug under several layers of blankets, eyes wide in the candlelight. He had always enjoyed hearing the stories, but now that he was finally old enough to start his own training, he finally was beginning to understand them.

"Well, you know that I was given the necklace not long after you were born, but it has been in our family for much longer than that," Ishizu began, moving to sit on the end of his bed where his feet stopped short of its edge. "The wedjat eye helps channel our power, helps focus our energy. It was created by alchemists, for alchemists." She traced the outline of the eye set into the golden surface of the necklace.

"Alchemists like us!"

Ishizu smiled. It was said that Marik was a prodigy—his mind somehow naturally tuned to the process of change, of deconstruction and reconstruction. "Right. It was created by alchemy—it is so old, in fact, that no one knows how it was made. Transmuting metals to gold is possible—the Item is a sure sign of that, just no one remembers how to do it. The process is thought to be lost."

"I'll do it! One day, Ishizu—I'll leave this place and go find it, and then I'll bring it back to you." They both looked up to the small hole in their roof, where a shaft of moonlight arced through the air to land in the middle of the room. They were alchemists, but beyond that they were Ishtars, keeping their craft alive but always staying away from the outside world, away from its distractions and complications. Alchemy was a science and an art, and it must be kept as pure as it had always been. _The world is wicked_, they had been taught from the cradle, _and you can only trust your own family_.

Ishizu softly kissed his forehead and blew out the flickering candle, no longer washing the room in its feeble light.

Ten years later, she tossed and turned in the same bed she had slept in as a child, visions dancing before her tightly closed eyes. With time they had become more vivid—showing her glimpses of what had come and what would be. She knew what she would find when she opened them.

The other bed in the subterranean chamber was empty. Marik had run away.

It was still dark when Marik had left. He had chosen to go through the kitchens for food and because they had a direct route to the outside to dispose of their garbage. It was only when he had been packing to leave that he discovered how little he actually possessed. Food, some clothing. He'd have to beg, borrow, or steal when he could, and Marik Ishtar did not beg nor borrow.

He set off down the first road he came across, and when he arrived at a crossroads he turned left, anxious to put some distance between himself and his old home. There was nothing but large fields of worked earth surrounding him, offset by the occasional stacked stone fence or tree. Sometimes he would stop briefly just to run his hands over the rough bark or tug on a leafy branch. The smell of it was crisp, even a little heady.

The sun crested over a hill set into a large fallow field, and for a moment he was blinded by its light. In his first steps down the hill his foot caught on a root and he tumbled down, spitting curses as his outstretched hands pushed against the bundle of hay twice his height that broke his fall. The rolled-up expanse of hay began to move, picking up speed as it fell down the hill and Marik chased after it, shoes slipping over the grassy mound, one hand over his face to shield it from the sun.

He chased the bundle of hay to the bottom of the hill where it continued onwards, losing little of the speed it had picked up earlier. It was on a collision course for a rickety-looking barn not twenty paces away, and Marik arrived just in time to watch it tear through the door on the barn's east side. What a way to start his adventure into the world… with a colossal mistake and property damage.

Luck was again proving not to be on his side as he entered the barn to see a parade of sheep wander across the large open space. The hay had finally fallen on its side, and several of the sheep had capitalized on this new food source.

"What the hell is going on?"

The voice belonged to their owner, a tall, lean man with brown hair that gathered in a single point above his forehead. He wore simple clothing and the fiercest expression Marik had ever seen. "You did this!" He quickly picked up the pitchfork that leaned against the other intact wall of the barn and waved it threateningly at the intruder. "Do you have any idea of how much damage you've done? How much it will cost to fix this?"

Marik wanted to reply that it was the hay's fault and not his own, and he should be threatening _it_ for remuneration, but instead he backed up until he stood in the newly-hewn doorway. Running his fingers over the splintered wood, he drudged up his training. "I can fix it. Do you have any pencils? Something with lead or any other metal in it?"

Grumbling, the farmer reached for a book lying on a wall shelf; several pencils were tucked in-between its pages. Marik only could see the faintest of words and pictures drawn into the book before he closed it with a snap and moved to stand before him. "Alright then, work your magic."

How right he was. Marik gathered the wood slivers that had come away from the barn as well as the broken hinges and placed them in a pile in the space where the door would have been. Using the pencil, he drew a thick line, circling the items several times. This array didn't have to be too complicated; he was only repairing a door. With a grin, he placed his hands on the edges of the array. This was his favorite part.

Before their eyes the barn was good as new; the wall repaired, the door whole, the hinges straightened. Marik looked up at his audience of one to gauge his reaction; he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but at least he had the sense not to reach for the pitchfork again. In seconds Marik could transmute it into a decorative figure of one of the sheep contentedly munching on hay.

"You're… you're one of _those_ alchemists." His voice was a touch incredulous, a part wondrous, and a dash hopeful—as if he wanted Marik to be one.

"I'm _an_ alchemist—so what does that make me?"

"I've only heard the rumors—of a clan of alchemists that lived not far from here. I heard that they never left," he said. "But the runners talk. I got it out of one at the market last month. He'd seen your homes for himself."

Marik idly wondered if the runner in question was his old friend Rishid, who aided the clan in keeping them alive and hidden from the world. He had learned to fight from that man he called his brother, scuffling with him and some of the others before he was called in to lessons, farther away from the surface than ever. It was no way to live. "Well then, I suppose I am one of those alchemists."

"Where are you going?"

This was the last thing he needed. The stealthy disappearance he had planned for had been shot all to hell, and with an eager—and Marik guessed big-mouthed—companion, he would be set back even farther from his goal. "I don't know where I'm going, but I don't need a sidekick."

"I never said anything about being anyone's sidekick," the man replied, anger coloring his words. "But you do need my help." At Marik's skeptical glance he continued, hesitantly opening his book. "You might not know much about the surrounding area. I've been making an entire book on it—maps, stories I've heard, legends. You need someone who knows the area and knows how to live out here—you probably didn't go five minutes before breaking down my door with a damn bale of hay. How far did you think you were going to get?"

Marik looked at him, sizing him up. He had a point, although Marik would never tell him that. "…what about your sheep?"

He laughed, turning to where the sheep were continuing to eat from the massive bale of hay still in the middle of the barn. "What about them?"

* * *

"My name is Honda," he said as they entered the small house adjoining the barn. He cleared off the table and set the book at its center.

"I'm Marik."

The formality of an introduction set Marik off—this man already knew what, according to the world outside, his deepest secret was. And now, he had to trust that he wouldn't make a scene of it. At least, he had his own reason for keeping Honda around.

"You said you don't know where you're going? Well then, why leave at all?"

The question Marik had been asking himself for years. How could he tell Honda that he had to go, that he had to leave? That they couldn't teach him anything else, and he had resolved to uncover this mystery not only for his clan but for himself? "I'm going to find a way to transmute metals to gold."

"You mean, you can do that parlor trick and then—bam! An endless supply of gold?"

"It's far from a simple parlor trick," Marik said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Alchemy is the deconstruction and reconstruction of the molecules that make up any object using the body to complete a circuit. That energy, using ourselves as a power source, is what makes it possible. I can rebuild a barn or evaporate the water inside your body. And you still say you want to come with me?"

In response, Honda reached for the book on the table and began turning its pages. He had drawn extensive maps in various colors representing mountains and deserts. Some pages had pictures of monuments; others were filled with lines of slanting script. "Most of my life has been spent wondering what's out there. And then you come here and literally knock down my door. I'm coming with you—this is not up for discussion."

They stared at each other across the table for several seconds. Honda broke first, turning the pages of the book to a large map of the area. "So," he began, "where does one go to transmute gold?"

* * *

"I still think this is a bad idea."

"You can decide where we go next. Besides, I've heard that this man knows everything." Honda was leading the way as they walked down the road, leaving the small farm behind. They had discovered early on that to make a line, one first needed a starting point. And as Honda pointed out, they had to start somewhere. Whether knowledge meant that they could trust the man was another matter entirely.

The next day brought them to a vast lake with an island at its center. Between the trees they could just see the outlines of a small house. After transmuting a small boat from a tree at the water's edge they crossed the lake.

Honda rowed them into an inlet covered by overhanging branches. They could hear several birds chirping at them over the wind whispering through the trees. With significantly less confidence than he appeared to have Honda docked the boat and they walked up to the front porch of the house, the floorboards sagging underneath them.

Before either of them could knock on the door it opened towards them, revealing a tall man in a faded red suit. "What a surprise, to find two such striking gentlemen on my doorstep! My name is Pegasus J. Crawford…do come in." Marik froze not at the tailored suit nor the curtain of silver hair but at the casual way he moved the strands away from his face, revealing an eye that was very much not his own. It was golden and bore the wadjet eye—the same as on his sister's necklace. He was looking at a Millennium Item.

They followed him down a carpeted hallway. Honda had his book out to a particular page detailing an inaccurate representation of their host. Marik saw an odd twinkling of the golden eye before Pegasus turned again, murmuring to Honda, "Are you an artist? You know, I used to be one."

The house, for its unassuming exterior, was very richly furnished. Marik had never seen such decadence. They arrived at a vast room with several plush armchairs positioned before a fireplace that at the moment was only glowing embers. Once the visitors had seated, Pegasus took the last chair, drawing one leg over the other and folding his fingers together over his lap. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to know how you got that eye," Marik said. While Honda was having trouble deciding whether or not it was polite to look at it, Marik was transfixed. Here again was proof that the transmutation was possible—for there was no doubt in his mind that the object was alchemic.

"Anything for an Ishtar." Pegasus coolly stared down the source of such an impetuous demand. This was a game he played very, very well. "It was many years ago, while I was young, and being young, would have done anything for the person I most loved. One day I received a most curious visitor, an alchemist much like yourself but not from your clan, and from him I understood that to save this person I had to create the elixir of life. And to do that, I needed to amplify our power. I needed gold."

"…And you got it," Honda whispered.

Pegasus inclined his head, acknowledging the statement. "There is no gain without loss. Another alchemical principle, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, but _how_ did you get it? That's what I want to know." Marik leaned back into his chair, frustrated. This was going nowhere; Pegasus seemed to enjoy giving them cryptic responses.

"How do you make any other transmutation? I should have thought it obvious." The eye gleamed again as he spoke. "You just have to be cautious about what you offer to the table, or it just might take something from you to make an equal exchange."

Pegasus stood up; the earlier pensive look replaced by a cheery smile. "Now then! You'll want to go to Kul Elna—that's where everything began, after all. Now, if there are no more questions…" He ushered them to the door.

"I have one," Honda stopped just short of the threshold. "Did it work? Did you save…her?" He paused just after the assumption, unsure why he thought that Pegasus would only go to such great lengths, to sacrifice even his own sight, for a woman. Something that Honda himself would never fully identify with, something that had prevented him from striking out on his own because he was afraid of the world he might find. Instead of open arms he always feared that they would turn their backs.

They could only see the sightless eye but if it were visible to them they might have called it sad—not remorseful, just sad. "Not yet. Like I said, gain and loss are inseparable parts of the transmutation. Now," he continued with a compelling smile, "If you do succeed, be sure to visit—I'd like to see the result for myself… don't let me keep you." Before they knew it, they were both standing on the front porch again, facing the door as if the entire encounter had yet to happen. For a moment, they each wondered if it had.

"I guess we're going to Kul Elna." Marik said as they headed back to the boat.

"…would you transmute something like _that_?" Honda asked.

"An eye? Of course not. It can be anything, like a staff or a necklace." They rowed to the shore of the lake, back to the paths that would take them onwards to the city. All quests aside, the city of Domino wasn't something one just passes by.

* * *

Everyone was shouting.

The people were crushed together across the entire length of the path, where colorful tents had been set up on either side. Money exchanged hands faster than water, and stands were loaded with food, fabrics, and other goods from far away lands.

They had arrived at Domino on market day, and it seemed that the entire city had turned out for the occasion. Each merchant was attempting to call attention to their own wares, and Honda and Marik were caught in the middle of it.

"Isn't this something?" Honda had picked up a strangely shaped fruit and was turning it over in his hands.

"We're not here for sightseeing!" Marik dragged him away from the stand and further down the path. "We're trying to find Kul Elna, remember?"

"But nobody knows where it is!" Honda shouted to be heard over the crowd. "They say the village vanished in a single night! Hardly anyone even knows _what_ it is, let alone where it is!"

They walked not a pace more when someone stumbled, brushing against Honda's side. He turned, seeing the swish of a dark red cloak disappear into the crowds. Checking his pockets, he swore. "That thief stole my book!"

"Then go after him!" They began to run in the direction the thief had gone, parting the crowds to either side as they followed the man in the red cloak. Suddenly he darted off in an alley between two tall sandstone buildings. They left the crush of the market behind and continued their pursuit.

Marik had the feeling that they weren't chasing so much as being led away, so he continued to glance behind him as they ran to make sure it wasn't an ambush. He wouldn't let some worthless pickpocket stand between him and his goal—he wasn't afraid to fight his way out.

They saw the tell-tale swish of red before they rounded the last corner, arriving in the dead end of the alley. They were surrounded on three sides by buildings; there was no escape.

Marik finally had the chance to get a good look at the thief. The hood of his cloak had fallen back, revealing hair that if clean could be white. He had a scar on one cheek that stretched with his grin. "I was just going to rob you both and call it a day, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You really should keep it down. People have been killed for less." His voice was smooth and sure.

"Yeah? Like who!" Honda shouted, curling his fingers into fists.

"The people of Kul Elna."

Neither Marik nor Honda moved, and Honda kept his fists raised. Coincidences like this didn't just happen, and this man was a thief, completely without honor. "What do you know about Kul Elna?" Honda asked.

The smile widened. "Everything."

Marik stepped forward. Thief or not, this was their link to the fabled city. He wouldn't let him slip away. "Can you take us there?" He decided against holding out his hand—he doubted that either of them would keep their word, if it came down to it. They both valued other things.

The thief made a show of bowing towards them. "Bakura, master thief and last surviving member of the city itself, at your service." He tossed the book he had stolen back to Honda, who caught it in midair. "We'll discuss my fees later—I can tell you two are very busy men." He motioned for them to follow him into one of the buildings framing the alley.

* * *

The first day of their journey had not gone well.

"I don't trust him," Honda continued to pressure Marik as they rode through the desert. Bakura had provided them with camels—where he had gotten them from was a mystery better left unsolved—and their trek across the desert would take several more days worth of travel at the least.

"We don't have a choice," Marik said. He wasn't sure when it had become _we_ and not _I_. Honda could turn back whenever he pleased, yet he didn't. They continued on, together. He supposed it had to count for something.

It was late the second night when they had tethered the camels and made their shoddy campsite that Honda had offered up the question that had been on his mind for the better part of the trip. "So… what happened at Kul Elna?"

Bakura had gone very still. "It was a massacre. The town was completely obliterated, each person struck down without mercy… all for a few trinkets. It was the alchemists that did it." His voice was bitter, his eyes staring into the fire that had been set up between them.

Marik tried a gambit just to see what would happen. "I'm an alchemist." He said the words as if they were talking of the weather or their dinner.

Bakura had lunged across the fire, a dagger pressed to Marik's neck. "Then I'll spill your blood and see if anything comes of it."

"Make one move and it will be your last." Honda had his own knife held against the back of Bakura's neck, the knife separating strands of his own hair like the teeth of a comb. "We've come far enough, we can find our own way from here."

"You wouldn't dare."

Honda pressed the knife more firmly against his neck in response, splitting several of the hairs in two that grew at the nape of his neck. With a dark laugh Bakura removed his dagger and slid away, leaving Marik breathing deeply from the encounter.

"You're lucky you have such a loyal companion," Bakura said, sliding the dagger back into its sheath at his side. "Like a guard dog."

Marik stopped Honda from attacking the thief and pulling them back into the stalemate they had just escaped from. "A few trinkets?" he asked, more out of curiosity than diversion.

"A key, a set of scales, and a necklace," Bakura replied, with no way of knowing just how profoundly his answer affected Marik. In his mind's eye he could see that very necklace worn by his sister; for as long as he had been alive she had worn it. Did she know what price had been paid for her to clasp it around her neck? Could he ever tell her?

"You should get your rest, alchemist, as we'll arrive in the city before sundown tomorrow."

If nothing else, he would see to it that the thief kept his word on that.

* * *

At first they thought it was a mirage in the desert, but the closer they got to the city they could see that it was very much real. They could see the outlines of buildings whose roofs had yet to cave in as well as the occasional lone column surrounded by its toppled brethren. It was as if the desert was slowly reclaiming the land, taking back what was rightfully its own.

"Welcome to Kul Elna," Bakura spread his arms out wide as they approached the city.

They tethered the camels and continued on foot; with the setting sun to their backs the entire city was washed in amber-orange light. While it never rivaled Domino in size, it was obvious the city had once been thriving and prosperous.

Marik could feel it—there was something about this town, something that seemed to pulse in the very air around them. It was as if although the inhabitants were gone, the spirit of the city remained very much alive. He wondered if that was the power he was supposed to draw from.

He threaded his way around a forest of columns, noting that their sides seemed to be covered in soot. As he continued walking forward, he could see further evidence of fire damage—in the discoloration on the walls and the stone foundations of the houses.

His mind reconstructed the scene… it was all about gain and loss.

Had this been an equivalent exchange?

At the center of the dark stained square was a peculiarly-shaped stone, and Marik knelt before it, sure that this was the place to make the array. He slowly drew the circles with the pencil Honda had given him, making sure that it represented a complete circuit. Like Pegasus had said, the array was simply the means of transmutation. It was what the magic took from him that would make the impossible happen. He placed the pencil in the center of the array; it would make a suitable foundation for a staff.

Marik saw Honda approaching the square. Before he got too close, and before he could think about it any further Marik pressed his hands down upon the array, feeling the cool stone underneath his palms. Just as the sun dipped under the horizon, he completed the circuit, and could feel the power rushing through him.

It could take what it liked, so long as he got what he came there for.

The charge seemed to spread to the air itself around them; Marik could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raise. For just a moment the array—or it could have been the stone itself—glowed brightly, but it was enough to make him close his eyes.

From his position near the edge of the square Honda could barely see the light from behind Marik. He couldn't see the array. But he could feel the energy—he could feel the change, the deconstruction and reconstruction.

He saw Marik stand up, seemingly whole. He saw the end result—a sphere-topped rod with the wedjat eye carved into it. He had done it… he had transmuted an object into gold.

"I'll take my fee now." Bakura dashed towards the center of the square, his hand wrapping around the Item and pulling it towards him. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, but I'll be going now."

Honda started to run towards them, to do something, anything, to help.

Bakura only made it five paces before he fell, the earth itself crumbling around his feet. Marik was crouched over another array, this one drawn on the ground itself, a sickeningly dark red color. Bakura twisted, trying to stand back up and run away with his treasure but already Marik was standing over him.

"Mine," he growled, reaching for the Item. Fingers still slippery and shining red, he spread his thumb and index finger in a circle over Bakura's palm. The reaction was instantaneous; the thief never stood a chance. He didn't even have time to scream before all the water in his body became air.

"…Marik?"

The voice was Honda's; he hadn't seen the damage yet. "Marik, are you okay? What happened to…" Honda couldn't speak; his eyes couldn't leave the desiccated husk of a man who had only a moment ago been vibrantly alive. Honda fell to his knees. He was going to be sick.

"No one will take what is mine…"

Something was off; his voice was much deeper, rougher. Through bleary eyes Honda could tell that even the way he carried himself was different. His eyes were wild, his tongue continually poking out from between his teeth to moisten his lips. And how he had killed Bakura… he had never seen such cruelty. The Marik he knew couldn't do something like that.

"Marik… what happened to you?" Honda struggled to his feet. "What did it take from you?"

Staring at the crazed man before him whose hands hadn't stopped caressing the golden surface of the Item; Honda thought he knew the answer. He doubted Marik had even heard him, instead continuing to cradle the Item in his hands.

"… soon it will all be mine!"

* * *

That night, Honda couldn't sleep. He wouldn't… afraid that if he let his guard down, Marik would do to him what he had done to Bakura. Marik… Honda had to remind himself that it wasn't Marik.

The transmutation had taken his sanity, his morals, his mind… but there was a sliver of his friend still in there. Not a moment after he had recovered, Marik had advanced towards Honda, the rod in his hands suddenly a pointed knife resting just above his collarbone. For a moment Honda forgot to breathe, his mind desperately trying to think of anything other than that damn bale of hay because his last conscious thought was _not_ going to be about hay—

Marik paused, the knife retracting an inch. "It appears you saved my life once." He spoke as if it happened long ago and not just the previous night. "And it would be remiss to take something that's _his_…" Slowly, he pulled the Item away.

While Marik slept, Honda considered more than once attempting to steal the rod and then steal away; perhaps back to Pegasus or to Domino. He'd hide the Item somewhere where Marik could never find it or try to destroy it. He knew these plans were hopeless—Bakura could barely get five steps away from him, and Honda suspected he wouldn't even get three.

He could do nothing but observe and hope for the right chance, so when Marik began packing his bags Honda did the same and they left Kul Elna together. Mostly, they rode in silence. "What are you going to do?" Honda ventured at last.

Half-lidded eyes regarded him calmly. It was obvious he didn't think of Honda as a threat, merely an annoyance. "I think the Ishtar clan has grown too large. They need to be cut down to size." The message was clear: he would be the last one standing.

To Honda, another message was revealed: they were headed home.

* * *

The prodigal son was about to return.

Good thing a welcoming party was waiting for him.

Most of the clan had gathered in loose rows on the plains before them. Honda lost count at one-hundred men and women, each standing tall, their features set. It was an endless sea of dark robes against the cloudless blue of the sky. For the first time, Honda began to worry for his friend.

A woman stepped out of the line; her golden necklace shone in the light. She made no attempt to cover it. "Marik, don't do this. You must know you can't win against us all."

He ignored her beseeching, instead feeling the cool metal of his own Item in his hand. "Ishizu, you must know that anyone who continues to stand in my way will fall."

In a matter of seconds he had made the first array. His strike came hard and fast, sending a quake that split the ranks in two as the fissure formed in the earth beneath them. The clan rebounded, shaking the earth beneath him as well. He stepped out of the way as the air beside him suddenly ignited, the transmuted fire feeding on the oxygen in the air.

Honda watched them fight; each side sending waves of attacks to the other. He noticed that nothing of their arsenal was directed at him. Thanking his good luck at last, he continued to crouch behind a rock to wait for the perfect opportunity.

Ishizu had raised a wall of earth to protect her clan and now fought alone against her brother. The air itself was charged with energy, crackling as each sent their attacks. Ishizu destroyed the trail of fire that shot towards her, transmuting the oxygen that it needed to survive into carbon, sending the metal spikes towards him. With a simple array he diverted their course, several thudding into nearby rocks, others taking hold into the upturned earth.

Projectiles carved out of the embankment soared towards him, and with ease he exploded each one to dust, making a dark cloud out of their battlefield.

When it cleared, Marik had transmuted the ground beneath him into a dais-like platform. "It's useless, Ishizu. Remember… I was always the stronger one. Accept the inevitable, and we can work together in this new age. Or fall—your choice."

Honda could feel the coarseness of the rock behind him, the freshness of the ground beneath him. He had only just realized it—the sort of alchemy it took to destroy the rod. It had to be similar to what created it. Something tangible, but also intangible… He took a deep breath and then darted towards them.

There was no way this would ever work, but he had to try. Even if it did work, he still wasn't sure he liked the idea.

"Hey!" Honda shouted, waving his arms as he ran. For a moment, the focus was entirely upon him. "You said that you wanted to be the strongest, right?"

"I am the strongest," Marik replied, fingers hovering over the ground as if itching to draw another array.

"Not yet—it's your memories! They tie you to the clan and they're holding you back! You can't be as strong as you could be without them." Honda heard the cries of outrage from the clan. They always transmuted with materials, with pure elements that someone could see or touch or use. They didn't know that if one brought a little more to the table, than they really could do the impossible.

He really hoped this would work…

"I don't need memories… I need power." Marik turned his attention to Ishizu, who for a moment looked like she might cross the field of battle herself and run to him. "Good bye, sister."

He pressed his hands to the array, and it seemed like time itself had stopped. Honda started to run towards the platform as memories began to wisp away; first Kul Elna, then Bakura. Honda thought he saw himself holding a piece of strangely shaped fruit vanish into the ether. The glint of a wedjat eye, and the smooth sound of oars against water. A path that seemed to stretch on forever but began at a large barn. All lines must have their starting point, after all.

Honda rushed up the platform and faced Marik, whose face contorted with rage upon seeing his throne invaded. Yet he could not remove his hands from the array, could not break the circle. Between them the image of a book lying open on a table disappeared, and with it the rebuilding of a door.

Honda pressed his palms to the array.

He could feel the energy flowing through him—he was a part of the circuit, and hopefully what he brought to the table was enough. Gain and loss… he hoped it was enough. He just wanted his friend back.

The rod that Marik still kept tucked under one arm began to glow. It, too, was a part of the circuit—but it, too, could change. For a moment Honda wondered if anyone had ever tried to transmute something that was already made of gold before.

Suddenly, the circuit broke and they each fell in the backlash of energy. It spread outwards, collapsing the platform and crushing several of the rocks to dust. Ishizu quickly transmuted a stronger earthen wall to protect them, and the clan members huddled against the ground, waiting for the inevitable silence.

Honda rose first, quickly moving to Marik's side. If he wasn't so tired he would have shouted with relief; at Marik's side was a simple pencil with a worn-down point. It had been enough… now all he could do was hope that he hadn't lost Marik completely.

When his eyes opened, would he remember him?

Violet eyes blinked twice before Marik leaned upwards, rubbing his head. "What happened…?" Amidst the scarred earth, the torn up rocks and trees and even the sight of his entire clan above ground, Marik noticed Honda. "Look, I'm so sorry about the hay, I didn't mean to destroy your barn. But I can fix it because I'm an alchemist, and—"

Honda reached out and embraced him tightly, wrapping his hands around Marik's shoulders. He closed his eyes, close as they were to Marik's hair—from all the reactions in the air it still retained its defined spikes.

After a moment Honda pulled away, continuing to hold him at arm's length. He didn't know when he had been happier. All his life he had wanted to travel, explore, to see the world. Now, he could think of a few other things that he'd like to do. "Don't worry—I know how you can make it up to me."

* * *

"So as you can see, Marik did fix the barn," Honda finished, motioning to the hinges that after all this time still worked perfectly. "And we all—"

"…Lived happily ever after?" The interruption came from one of his audience, a small girl with dark glasses. Most of the group laughed from their positions lounging on several large bales of hay.

Honda laughed with them. "Something like that." He helped several of the group to stand up. "Break time's over now—I want to see each of you practicing your alchemy. Start small… remember, there's no rush."

Just like there was no rush with Marik. It was a rare second chance, and he had taken it. Love, or something like it, was one of those intangibles. Like Pegasus had said, it was all about gain and loss. It had brought Marik back to him.

Honda stopped in the center of the barn, surrounded by his students. Only one thing was missing to make it perfect…Just where was Marik, anyway? The same student who had finished his story came up to him, smiling shyly. "Can you tell us another story? Please?"

"Tell you what," Honda said, "I'll let Marik tell the next one."

* * *

The End.

* * *

Footnotes:

I tried desperately to make the pseudoscience of alchemy work in _some_ context. Alchemy, as I have defined it, is using the body as a sort of battery to power small reactions. These reactions change the election count of an element, changing it into another element. That's how they can create fire and move things and stuff-also changing the speed that the molecules move generates heat. These reactions can change established compounds as well, like making a boat out of a tree—you're merely shaping what's already there, not making something brand new. That's why I used lead pencils to make most of the arrays in this story—I needed something that could be a conductor, to complete the circuit. That is also why the golden Millennium Items improved one's alchemic potential—gold is one of the best conductors.

The 'intangibles' being something transmutable? Well, there we leap away from science into pure speculation. One of the big take-aways I got from the anime _Full Metal Alchemist_ is that life experiences, hopes, dreams, memories… if anything, that could be an equivalent exchange for something 'impossible.' In essence, what makes us, us. I write about that in _Circumference_ as well, but don't read it unless you like spoilers.

_Mea culpa_ in advance for any scientific inaccuracies. I'm going off of three physics courses and chemistry I took two years ago, as well as a book I got for Christmas on the periodic table. _Thank_ _you_ for reading and _please_ review, I value and treasure each one.


	6. Nightingale

"A sensible man will remember that the eyes may be confused in two ways - by a change from light to darkness or from darkness to light; and he will recognize that the same thing happens to the soul."

~Plato

.

"Nightingale"

.

Night fell like a curtain over Domino City. Swathed in darkness, the streets took on a curious appearance, slithering around houses and hills. Shadows stretched from each tree, banded against each branch. Several towers stood guard, looming over the center of it all.

Things looked different in the night.

That night, a boy named Haga was starting to wish he'd stayed home.

He had gone with a friend to sneak into the Late Movie—successfully—and they had parted ways on Fifth. It was about then, maybe a little after, that he started getting a weird feeling. He wasn't sure if someone was following him, or his footsteps were just echoing off the sidewalk in a strange shuffle that didn't sound like two feet at all. The wind had picked up a little, rustling the trees and causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Something wasn't quite right.

He heard what could have been a cough, and Haga started to run.

He was about to shout when suddenly it was on him, engulfing him, swallowing him whole. He fell, the sound of its presence filling his ears. He was certain it would tear him in two.

What stood up a moment and began to slink down the sidewalk, pausing every now and then to stay out of the light from an errant streetlamp was not Haga, although it appeared to be. He skittered away from the wall of an apartment block, his legs casting shadows in triplicate on the cracked cement.

He skirted one streetlamp; its light gleamed off his rimmed glasses.

"I thought I saw a bug."

Haga's body turned at the unfamiliar voice, an insidious sneer on his face. He turned, throwing himself half into the light. His shadow stretched behind him, a mass of six legs and a hard outer shell. The man who had spoken walked calmly down the street, as if nighttime was the perfect time for a stroll. He smoothed back his bangs with one hand to see his target more clearly. No wonder this one was possessed by a bug—he didn't have much going for him to begin with.

Haga charged, first darting right, then left, his erratic motion a gambit to force the hand of his opponent.

It didn't work. He had fought far too many to be fooled by such simple parlor tricks.

He held out his hand and focused his mind. Faint outlines of the Wedjat eye appeared on his forehead, gleaming briefly in the darkness. He allowed himself to smile. This was too easy.

"Mind Crush!"

The insectine shadows began to melt away and in its wake darkness poured in. Haga felt the irresistible need to close his eyes. Fighting against the fatigue, he stumbled towards his savior.

"What… what was that?" he murmured; his voice hoarse.

The man raised an eyebrow, as if wondering whether or not to entertain this vermin. "Man-Eater Bug," he replied dismissively. "A lesser demon. It's gone now, but there'll be three more in his place."

Haga visibly swallowed, rubbing his palms against his jacket. He wasn't sure if the idea thrilled him or terrified him. "…More?"

"They all wait for their turn to prowl the darkness, creeping until they find a suitable host. There's bugs, wraiths, dragons; things that go bump in the night isn't even the half of it." He paused, looking to the sky as if to number them was to number the stars. "There's hundreds of them out there. Thousands, maybe."

He began to walk away before the boy whose life he had just saved could ask another question. He wasn't about to finish his story—if they didn't already, everyone would think him mad if he shared what he learnt that night—the way it inevitably ended spurned him both to act and to regret.

And only one person can stand in their way. Only one person can vanquish the demons when they break into our world and try to turn it into an eternal night. Only one can destroy them and save everyone else, and no one can know that he even exists.

No one can know how close the world had come to that tipping point already.

He called himself Yami, for he dwelled in the darkness. What others feared and fled from he moved towards, his arms outstretched.

* * *

_All around him stretched an endless sea of gray. It floated above him and waved around him. He might as well have been swimming in it._

_He was drowning in it. The dullness of it suffocated him. It made him want to destroy every last wandering thing in this place, smash their faces until he could barely recognize any of it—_

_But that would go against his plan. And he was nothing if not a meticulous planner. _

_He shuffled forwards, getting ever closer to where he craved to be. The line he was standing in stretched behind him until infinity, each of them waiting for their turn to make the crossing. Yet he was finally close enough to see the gate. Besides, he's the largest of them all—he can see over each head straight to the portal that is his destination. After millennia, his moment is nearly here. _

_He looked at the thin break in the rolling, scorched clouds and knew he was close. The monster that was inside him, that was him, practically hummed with anticipation._

_Yes, he thought, allowing himself to think on the nature of his plan. It was only just a matter of time._

* * *

"Shizuka!"

"Shizuka!"

"Hmm?" Everything seemed a little fuzzy. She could faintly hear the voice hissing at her to wake up and pay attention, but sleep just sounded so delicious, she couldn't resist closing her eyes for another moment…

Her eyes snapped open as her name was called, and she hastily flipped the page of her notes, stabbing at the paper with the eraser end of her pencil. She called what she hoped was the answer and after the requisite moment her teacher used to let the tension build he continued to another student and she relaxed. The heat was off her for now.

She just couldn't help it if she got tired in the afternoons. Her brother had been taking extra shifts at the diner after he graduated and she wanted to stay awake each night in time to hear the door open and close. Jounouchi would latch the door securely before removing his coat and hanging it on a peg beside the door. Then the shoes would come off and his footsteps would pad throughout the tiny apartment, always checking on her last. She'd be pretend-asleep then, eyes closed and breaths deep. She'd be turned towards him if she felt daring. He never pressed the question but she thought he knew she'd stayed up to wait for him.

People did things like that for the ones they cared about. It was simple.

Later that night found Shizuka completing that same routine—she had just finished stacking her schoolbooks on the left side of her desk when she heard shouts coming from outside the apartment. Peeking through the blinds, she saw that the street was deserted and completely dark save the dim streetlamps spaced regularly down the road.

She stared at the spot where light should have pooled onto the cement sidewalk. Something unseen stretched across the air, a shadow pulled taut. It transfixed her.

A foot backed into the light, and even from that instant she knew who it was. Shrugging on a sweater, she decided that she'd open the door for him. It had probably been a long day for her brother.

She stepped outside, shivering a little from the cold, and was greeted with the most peculiar sight. Jounouchi was advancing towards another boy; his back was turned to her but she couldn't even think about that. Her eyes just stopped at her brother's face.

Softly, hesitantly, she called out to him. "Big…brother…?"

Jounouchi's eyes snapped upwards and she could see something wild, even feral, in them. They seemed to tinge red at the corners and even in the dark she could see them clearly. She felt her feet begin to inch backwards. Suddenly Jounouchi leapt towards her, his arms scrabbling at the cracks in the cement stairs leading up to the small landing before the door. Shizuka opened her mouth to scream.

Jounouchi was suddenly pulled backward by the other boy and they tumbled down the stairs, her savior struggling to pin him down. For one second, he was able to stretch out his hand towards her brother's face.

One second was all it took.

After a flash of bright light, Jounouchi's eyes closed, his entire body relaxing into the ground. Her savior slowly got up to his feet, his breaths coming out in pants. Shizuka watched him warily, wanting to run to her brother yet fearing the stranger standing between them.

It was as if he had read her mind. "It's safe now," he said, stepping aside. His voice seemed to suit him. "You can go to him."

Shizuka blinked up at him for a minute before running down the concrete path, taking the stairs two at a time, and crouching near her brother. She ran her hands over his face; put her palm against his forehead. "He's… he's going to be okay?"

"Yes. He'll come to in a few minutes." With one last look at the way her hands smoothed his hair and checked his pulse, he began to drift back into the shadows.

"Wait!"

He stopped but did not turn around.

"Can you give me your name? I… I just wanted to thank you properly."

He looked over his shoulder at her, now standing up, her eyes shining determinedly. He didn't quite know what to do—no one had asked for his name before, nor ever thanked him for his efforts. Yet, she had asked him to _give_ her his name—as if he was sharing something of himself, a treasure. And once she had it, it would be hers. Could he trust her?

"My name is Yami."

She bowed her head, noticing how the cracks in the sidewalk shot across the cement like lightning bolts. "Thank you Yami for saving my brother." She straightened up and gave him another smile before returning her attention to her brother. "…Oh, and my name is Shizuka. But thank you."

Yami checked his watch briefly before disappearing again into the night. A moment later, Jounouchi awoke with a start, lying in the middle of the sidewalk, no memory of walking home from his job at the diner. Shizuka led him inside by the hand, a secret smile playing at the corners of her lips.

* * *

During the days Shizuka floated in a wash of classes, friends, and chores, but each night she found herself thinking of him. She might have dreamt of him too, but she rarely remembered her dreams. She wondered briefly if she had simply dreamt him, and was only convincing herself he was real.

This was what she told herself when she slid on her warmest jacket and slipped outside after her brother had returned from work and fallen asleep. It was late bordering on early, but she had to know for sure that he was real. She also wanted to see him again, but she hushed that part of herself.

She decided to walk the familiar route to school; she had traced this path so many times that she was confident in her steps, even in the dark.

She crossed one empty street and continued down another, her footsteps quietly shuffling with each step. She hummed to herself under her breath; it was easy to pretend she was simply sleepwalking through the night.

Shizuka stepped out to turn a corner and something big collided against her leg, flipping over and landing in a heap on the pathway in front of her. She nearly fell, her entire body pitching forwards, but she felt herself being pulled backwards and away from the body currently struggling to pull itself up from the ground.

Once she was on her feet the hands grasping her forearms instantly let go. She turned around, expecting anyone but the man whom she had met for the first time not long ago. She literally stumbled into him… Shizuka wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Yami seemed just as surprised to see her.

"Shizuka! What are you doing here…?" At a loss for words, Yami quickly sidestepped around her, raising one arm to knock the possessed man back to the ground. He stretched out his fingers, removing the shadow that had come over the man currently unconscious, bangs obscuring his face.

"Hey, I was helping," she said, motioning to the man who was only just coming to. "He was running away and I tripped him. There. Helping."

Yami steered her back in the direction she had come from and they started walking. He hated to stick around when a person woke up after each possession.

She suddenly stopped, and he found himself stopping as well. "What is going on?" she whispered, as if the answer was a secret.

It was. He asked himself again if she was someone he could trust. In his mind, it didn't even matter anymore. He was tired of roaming the nights alone. He was tired of not knowing a single soul.

When Yami spoke, it was hushed, urgent. As if he had to get it all out then or he would never get his chance again. "Do you know that there are actually two worlds? The physical realm, where we are now. The second is the shadow realm."

He looked at her suddenly, and noticed for the first time that her entire attention was directed to him. He didn't quite know how he should feel. "People cannot live in the shadow realm. But shadows can cross the bridge into this world; the connection is minimal so few can make that journey. They seek out a compatible host—someone who calls out to them. Then they possess that host."

"And you can stop them." On impulse, Shizuka reached out and took his hand. She traced the lines stretching out across his palm. She remembered him using those hands to save the person she loved most in this world. They were good, strong hands.

He closed his palm around her much smaller one. "I can send the shadows back to the realm that they belong in, and keep the people in this realm safe."

She smiled up at him. "There's something I want to show you."

Never letting go of his hand, she led him down the street, crossing one intersection and going down another. The building where Jounouchi worked hid a secret—a rooftop with the most spectacular view of Domino. She had spent many evenings there just gazing at the way the sun glinted off each building before dipping down beneath one crested hill. The sunrises, she figured, would also be quite something.

They climbed the exterior staircase at the back of the building, taking the steps two at a time. The iron rang out with each footstep like a clock chiming the hour.

"I… I wanted to share something with you. Because you've told me so much, and saved my brother's life, and probably mine too…"

They were standing on a platform that stretched across the entire roof and could have stretched off forever if not for a slight embankment of brick enclosing the space. A water tank, electrical equipment and the occasional satellite dish were their only companions. They could see all of Domino unfolding before their eyes.

"Thank you." Yami could tell that this place meant a lot to her.

They stood and watched the city that hid so much in both darkness and light. She counted several towers in the middle of it all, and noticed his attention was on a few smaller buildings grouped off to the side. "Just wait a moment and we can watch the sunrise."

Yami took a step back, wrenching his gaze away from the city he guarded. "No, I can't stay… I should go."

"Wait!" She reached out, grasping the corner of his jacket sleeve. "What did I do wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong," he said, backing up away from the railing of the balcony, away from the light that was beginning to peek above the skyline. "I need to go."

"Please stay here." When he said nothing she slowly removed her hand from his sleeve, shifting her body slightly away from him. Her hand dropped to her side.

"There's something else you need to know about me." With a new resolve, he started walking towards her. "A toll that I must pay each and every day for my power." It was a power, not a gift. Not something he could give, that he would ever want to give to someone else.

The radiant sun made the sky come alive with color; pinks and oranges streaked across the sky as if to reach out to them. Yami stepped forward, and in the light of the sun Shizuka had to close her eyes.

When she opened them it wasn't Yami standing before her. He certainly looked like Yami, but his eyes were a little less fierce, his bearing just a little less regal. Someone similar, but different.

They just stared at each other. "Hey," the other Yami said, his hands reaching for his pockets. "You're Shizuka?"

"Yeah," she answered, shifting her weight between each foot. "So you're…?" She let the question trail off at the end, unsure even of how to word it.

"I'm Yugi," he said, his voice a little higher-pitched, a little friendlier. "Yami can only come out at night, Shizuka," and he spoke the words as if he was afraid of what her reaction would be. "It's like we take turns; one awake during the night and asleep at day; the other awake for day but asleep at night. It isn't something we can change; in fact we've never had a problem with it." He paused, a little uncertain. "You're the only person who knows."

Shizuka smiled at him. She could see the secret as a burden he was carrying that weighed him down, and as they left the rooftop she thought it was getting lighter with each step.

* * *

_He prowled the night, looking for the perfect host._

_He knew what he wanted; and he was looking for a 'what,' not a 'who,' someone who could blend into the night and who would pass unnoticed. Someone who was already half shadow. _

_He stole across another open square, blending in to the shifting shadows as he looked, his features almost overloaded with the sensations. Compared to where he was now, he came from a flat land, a place with no touch or taste or smell. He wondered what it would feel like when he took over his host._

_He found him just outside the cemetery. He saw him leave, the rusted gates clinking shut behind him, the familiar way that he ran his fingertips over the rough-hewn stone walls bordering the space. He looked like a ghost. _

_He charged and was upon him instantly, enveloping him, sinking into his every pore. He could feel his host fighting weakly, and as he sought out his heart he could see the inklings of darkness there. Of curiosity._

_Those tendrils of his heart extended their hands, and they shook on their agreement. _

_It was almost too easy. _

_The man who continued walking down the street was no longer the man who had entered the cemetery to grieve and remember his own who had passed on. He stretched out his hands, using them to pull away the strands of white hair away from his face. He sought out his new name. Bakura._

_He could live with it._

* * *

Every now and then she would join Yami on his nightly patrols and they would wander throughout Domino much like the shadows themselves. Other nights she would wait for Jounouchi to finish his shift at the diner; going up to the rooftop deck and watching the stars. Often she imagined what the shadow realm looked like—it was something she couldn't help but think about. She would trace constellations with her fingertips and draw her fingers across the sky in a sweeping ark, creating a bridge in her mind. This bridge arced down through the clear night sky and ended at her feet, ropes of stardust and moonlight reaching up to someplace secret. The other end of the bridge dropped off into the bleakness of space; nothing, a void.

She saw Jounouchi's eyes as they were that one night, flashing red in the darkness, and she shuddered. She found beauty in the mysterious but there were always lines, always paths that one could only look down but never tread. She traced the sky with her fingers again.

* * *

One night they returned to the roof. They stood on the deck and she asked him about the shadow realm. About the monsters.

"As long as the darkness in our hearts exists, the shadow realm will also exist," he said as they looked out towards the city. They heard the sounds of a car speeding by. "That's why they want to cross into our world. Greed, power… it is their essence."

Shizuka wondered what would happen to Yami if the bridge were cut off. If there was no reason for the shadow realm to exist, would he too disappear into the void? She decided that she could be just a little bit greedy for his sake. She didn't want him to go—not that night or any other one.

Just as night began to meld into day and before she lost her nerve, she kissed him, clumsily threading her fingers through the strands of his hair. He pulled her towards him and as the light of the morning sun washed over them, she could feel the change. He never broke the connection but instead deepened it, and she could feel something desperate in the way he held her.

So she surrendered to both the light and the darkness.

* * *

She didn't see Yami for several days afterwards. One night she set out to find him, wandering the streets of Domino until she spotted him on his nightly route. When he saw her he ran to her, pulling her away from the street. "You can't be here," he whispered. "It's dangerous."

"It's always been dangerous," she said, struggling against his grip on her arm. "Life is dangerous. Why is this a problem now?"

"Because there's someone out there that I haven't caught," he said, and his words made her shiver. "There's someone in Domino possessed by a shadow monster and I need to find him."

He began to lead her away and she recognized the roads enough to know that he was taking her home. "Him?"

"I've seen him." They quickly crossed the street, edging down another road. "He let me see him. He's playing with me."

"Please don't worry," she said as she softly squeezed his hand. "It will all be okay."

"I'm not worried about myself." He left her safe in her apartment, glad that she hadn't asked the one question that could have destroyed him. He couldn't bear to tell her that he had allowed this to happen. It was his fault—if he hadn't been with her, he would have caught this shadowy thief as soon as he had broken through. It wasn't her fault at all—it was his, completely and irrevocably his.

* * *

Yugi was working at his game shop—well, not technically his as he owned it jointly with his grandfather—when his friend Jounouchi burst into the store. The bell over the door rang furiously as the door swung out and back in, thudding into place in the door frame.

Jounouchi was panting, as if he had run all the way to the store. "Jounouchi, what's wrong?" Yugi had never seen his friend like this.

"It's my sister," he gasped, doubling over as he struggled to regain his breath. "Shizuka's gone missing. I just got off the phone with Anzu and Honda; they're sweeping the city right now."

Yugi had gone very still the instant he had heard her name. He had known that Jounouchi had a sister, who wouldn't know with the way he carried on about her? But he had never made the connection. He had been asleep the night Yami had met Shizuka. He should have known…

"Have you tried the police?" Yugi asked, moving around the counter to stand by his friend's side.

"They're doing all they can but said that you can't open a case unless two days have passed." He ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "What am I going to do? She didn't go to school today. She could be anywhere."

"Calm down. You need to think clearly if you want to find her." Yugi's voice was soothing but inside, he was seething. He knew what had happened. He knew exactly who had taken her. In his mind he saw a man with white hair and a taunting grin. This was their endgame.

Of course it was a trap. His opponent was making the first move, and Yugi knew that he could do nothing until nightfall. He clenched his fist; Shizuka better be unharmed when he got there.

Once night fell he would stop at nothing to get to her.

* * *

Shizuka struggled against the bands of shadow wrapped around her arms and legs. She had come to on the rooftop deck, feeling the cold metal of an exterior pipeline against her back. Bakura's face appeared before her.

"Good, you're awake." He inspected the shadow-handcuffs again, looking pleased at his work. "Just in time to watch the show."

She looked out as the sun dipped low over the horizon; the sky was tinged with darker streaks of purple and red from the setting sun. At one time she would have thought it pretty, now it only made her feel sick.

"Show?"

"An excellent show," he said, doing one final turn about the deck. "I do think you'll like it. It's much better to enjoy your last hours, anyways."

"Yami is going to destroy you."

"Yami? Is that what he's calling himself? How unoriginal." Bakura spread his arms, as if welcoming a much larger audience. "He won't destroy me. Nothing will stand in the way of my plan."

"And what plan is that?"

Yami stood on the other end of the rooftop with the fiercest expression Shizuka had ever seen. He only looked at her for a moment before turning his attention to Bakura. "It's me you want—let her go now."

"Why, we're only getting started." Bakura said, his lips curving back into a twisted smile. "And once I fully open the portal to the shadow realm, the real fun begins."

"You're insane!" Shizuka shouted.

Bakura regarded her calmly. "And you will be the first to go once the gate opens."

"Mind Crush!"

The flash of light enveloped the space; Yami had not held back. When the light faded, Bakura stepped forward, brushing the sleeves of his jacket as if the attack had barely harmed him. When he spoke, the challenge was clear. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Mind Crush!"

"…Yami, you never learn. Your attacks are useless against me. Would you care to know why?" Bakura said, crossing his arms. "It's because we're the same." He leaned forward as he spoke, as if imparting a secret.

"You must have noticed the similarities?" Bakura began to pace slowly back and forth, taking his time with every step. "You only exist at night, and your powers can send lesser shadow monsters back across the portal. I saw you when you were first on our side."

"No!" Shizuka shouted, her voice breaking halfway through.

"You came into this world and possessed the boy Yugi," Bakura accused. "You got it in your head to start destroying the shadow monsters. You're killing off your own kind!" Bakura laughed. "Who do you think you are?"

"_You're_ the monster!" Shizuka's throat was raw and her hands ached from the shadow-restraints, but she continued to struggle against them. "Yami, don't listen to him! You're good, I know you are!"

"Who says I can't be both?" Yami focused inward and let another attack blast from his fingertips. Bakura absorbed the blast, countering with his own attacks. They each continued to attack in turn, the sky growing darker as a blanket of clouds stretched over the sky above them.

As narrow beams of light filtered through the clouds Shizuka thought she saw two forms glimmering in the sky above them. As Yami and Bakura attacked and counterattacked, so did the flickering monsters grapple and dodge.

Yami fired attack after attack at his opponent; Shizuka had to close her eyes from the brightness of the attacks. Yet when she squinted through the light she could just make out the two shimmering monsters fighting above them.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Bakura snarled, his eyes wild from the bursts of light and the fighting. "Your attacks do nothing to me!"

"That's where you're wrong, Bakura," Yami said, readying his stance again. "Mind Crush!"

"I told you, that's not going to—"

The clouds parted as a burst of shimmering light floated between them. Squinting, Shizuka thought she saw a person within the light; someone regal, with flowing robes and an elaborate golden headdress and wings. The light reflected off him so brightly that Shizuka thought for a moment it was a star.

Yami's attack was different this time; stronger, more focused. As Bakura absorbed the energy, he suddenly jerked his arms, grabbing at his jacket. His already white skin started to get whiter, brighter, until he too started to radiate light. The last Shizuka saw before she had to look away was Bakura, his mouth open in a soundless scream, already half-gone into the light.

Shizuka opened her eyes when she felt her restraints melt away into the air. Rubbing her wrists, she glanced around the deck. All signs of the light, the glowing monster, even Bakura himself—they were gone. Yami remained standing although he was hunched over, clearly exhausted from the fight.

She ran to him and threw her arms around him, running her fingers over his shoulders and through his hair. Anything to reassure herself that yes, they both had made it. That it was finally over.

* * *

Night fell like a curtain over Domino City. Swathed in darkness, the streets took on a curious appearance, slithering around houses and hills. Shadows stretched from each tree, banded against each branch. Several towers stood guard, looming over the center of it all.

Things looked different in the night.

That night, those that called Domino home were a little safer.

"You stay safe," Shizuka said, leaning into Yugi's embrace.

"Of course," he said mock-seriously, "when am I not?"

She sighed and pushed his arm impatiently. "Promise."

"I promise." He grinned and closed the distance between them. Shizuka felt the change again like before, but this time the kiss was less tender and more passionate. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

"Now go save Domino," she said, smiling as he left, the door slamming shut behind him. Bakura had been destroyed but, as Yami said, the darkness in their hearts would never fully disappear. But he had proven to them both of the goodness that dwelled inside him. He was no monster.

She watched from the window as he walked away from the house for his nightly rounds. He stopped at the corner and looked back over his shoulder. Backlit from the living room lamps, she was certain he could see her. Yami turned again and rounded the corner. Shizuka watched until he disappeared from her sight, and then slowly pulled the curtains closed.

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Written for Round Ten of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Shadowshipping: YamixShizuka. I have some Timidshipping (YugixShizuka) in here too, of course.

For reference, the ka/soul/shadow monsters that possess the citizens of Domino are as follows:

Haga = Man-Eater Bug

Jounouchi = Red-Eyes Black Dragon

Bakura = Zorc Necrophades

Yami = Horahkty

Bakura uses shadow-chains in episode 36, so that's where I got that idea from in the story.

_Thank you _for reading and _please _review, I value and treasure each one.


	7. Covenant

Written for Round Eleven of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Seershipping: IsisxIshizu. Additional relationships shown in the story are: RyuujixIshizu, MarikxBakura, IsisxMahad, and tiny hints of others.

This is so AU it hurts… read on, read closely, and read into _everything_. One quick note: As this is an Item-less (and therefore YM-less) AU, there was no reason for Rishid to have the tattoo on his face. Therefore, he doesn't. Because the Ishtars aren't tombkeepers in this. Nope, they're gypsies.

"Covenant"

* * *

Located just before the shores of the Black Sea and east of the foothills of Anatolia is a most curious kingdom with one foot in the past, one in the present and eyes always on the future. Tucked away from the world in a forest so deep that the stillness has a voice unto itself, the royal city glittered like a jewel –and like something precious, it stayed hidden in shadow.

The finery masked a much darker secret.

"Queen Isis, everything is as you requested." The servant girl inclined her head slightly; the yellow ribbon tucked into her hair swayed with the movement.

"Lovely." Isis studied her companion. This one was relatively new; she had been pulled from the streets—an orphan, a vagrant. She preferred them that way: without traces. It had been long enough, she decided. "Tell me… are you happy here?"

"Oh yes," she said, nodding her head emphatically, not noticing how Isis had stood and begun to walk slowly towards her. "Without your help, I wouldn't have anything…I owe you my life."

"…You do, do you?" Isis murmured, casting an eye to the door to make sure it was still securely closed. She turned, filling in the space left as the girl inched backwards, feet flexing through her thin shoes as if unsure in which direction to go, but certain that she had to move. "That is your debt to me? Would you repay it?" Isis leaned forward as she spoke, her breath ghosting across her companion's neck.

"A-Anything my lady asks of me." Her voice and her body shook.

Isis briefly kissed the spot on her neck before clamping down, the girl's body spasming as its own life force, its own blood was pulled from it. The time it took for her to die was relatively quick, but to fully drain the blood, especially after death, took considerably longer. She lifted the girl, now considerably lighter, and began to carry her from her own chambers to a secret room that she used only for occasions like this.

Faint lines of blood had run down the girl's neck, dotting her clothing that had already torn from her struggling. Isis gently laid the body down on the floor and then continued to drain her until there was nothing left and she was satisfied. Her body felt invigorated, energized. Restored.

It had not always been this way. She had once been a priestess; a seer to a celebrated pharaoh of Egypt. She was a devoted priestess yet she was devoted to one above all else… and when he left that day to meet his end at the hands of a dangerous thief, she could feel it in her chest, the moment his thread to life was cut.

Her Mahad, gone from this Earth… dizzy with grief, she sought out Osiris, the ruler of the underworld, and they made an agreement. For Mahad was not dead, not quite. His body and mind were beyond the pall, yet his soul had made a curious transition; it was bonded still to life through the power of the golden Items the priests and pharaoh all shared. So Isis made her choice and surrendered her own soul to the darkness that she might gain the power to live, live on beyond her own life and find a means to return her lover to his corporeal form.

Yet there was a catch; an eternal life would never be given freely. She could take the life force of others to sustain her own, yet only if it was given willingly. Someone must be willing to offer up their own life to her; only then would it be sufficient to extend her own.

So Isis lived on, drifting across countries with the centuries, rising to positions of power and prestige. Being the patroness of young girls, those with no fortune or future, gave her the life she desired. It was easier to seek them out, those that trusted blindly. It had been years upon years, hundreds of lifetimes if not more and as the world progressed she never lost sight of her true reason for living. A time would come when she could be reunited with her lover. She knew what her fate would be if she died before that day—her crimes to sustain her life were dark and deep, and her heart would descend into an unthinkable hell for it. She walked the edge of her own life's dusk and the most eternal darkness, and had paid the ultimate price for the privilege.

She had seen it in her waking dreams and secret nightmares; desperately she prolonged that fate by ensnaring those in her dark web. It had become her own secret obsession. There was nothing else.

A soft knock at the door caught her attention. She calmly made her way across the room and edged the door open; a sliver of light that cut through the hallway beyond illuminated one of the faces she trusted implicitly.

He kept his voice low, a cascade of hair brushing past his shoulders. "I happened across a most interesting bit of news, and I thought you would want to know… several Romani have taken up residence in the city."

She blinked back her surprise. Romani, in their city? "Are you certain?"

"There are three of them. They've come a long way… I heard they're from Egypt." There was something of a dark humor to that, a chuckle that just brushed up against his words. It would seal their fate for her, that much was certain.

"Well then." Isis brushed imaginary creases out of the folds of her skirt. "Make sure that they attend the gala tomorrow." She recognized the familiar feelings. The hunt was beginning again.

..

The palace was at its height of splendor. Amid glittering crystal and swaths of damask Ishizu felt quite out of place. She ducked her head as she followed her brothers into the ballroom. She saw a blurry figure in the polished floor—her own reflection, shimmering uncertainly back at her.

Rishid, the oldest; good and strong, he sensed her uncertainty. "Ishizu, are you alright?"

She smiled back at him. Both he and Marik looked so sure—they seemed to meld against this new world they had wandered into. Only she stuck out. It had always been her.

For him, she managed a smile. "Its very exciting, isn't it?" Couples were already making their way across the floor in time to the music.

"I don't think so," Marik said defiantly. "Where's the adventure in a ball?" He fidgeted in the tight-fitting suit. They hadn't enough money to buy one that matched his growth as he had gotten older.

From her vantage point on an upper balcony Isis surveyed the trio. Obscured by the balustrade, she watched them enter. The two eldest were dancing. A girl—Isis watched her with interest. She would be the perfect addition to her retinue. A gypsy, who had wandered right into her well-laid trap. She was beautiful—not unlike herself; with shining dark hair and regal features that betrayed their shared Egyptian heritage.

She caught sight of her dance partner and gasped. Could it be..? Her mouth went dry—had her Mahad returned to her, or was it merely an illusion, her own mind playing tricks on her? This one, too, she would keep within her sights. The pair of them were most intriguing.

Rishid and Ishizu moved across the floor as the orchestra swelled. Her dress belled out as he turned her, smiling reassuringly. The music ended briefly, starting up again with a lighter, merry overture. They joined the queue of dancers and within moments Ishizu found herself in the unfamiliar arms of a new dance partner. Her skin shivered at his touch.

"Beautiful night for a dance," he remarked as they turned, hands intertwined. "The stars shine so brightly."

Ishizu chanced a look back at Rishid, who had been swept into a different figure of the dance. This man was holding her far closer than was proper for someone she'd never met—a stray lock of his hair danced against her own shoulder.

"We have not been introduced—"

"And what is a better introduction than a dance?" His hand ghosted down to her back, where he turned her effortlessly. "My name is Ryuuji Otogi. I am a Duke by blood but who's to say that it isn't my better half, hmm?"

She couldn't dare share her heritage with an outsider, yet she found herself enjoying the dance. Under his skilled lead, she herself appeared more graceful. "My name is Ishizu."

"My lady," he murmured, gently nodding his head and Ishizu for once was glad that her darker skin hid the embarrassment flushing across her cheeks. He was too charming.

"Am I?" she asked sharply as they continued their promenade. She could see the others moving to a new place in the dance, switching partners, yet he skillfully maneuvered his way again into line with her.

"Would you like to be?" Despite the joking lilt to his voice, there was something in the way he looked at her that made her believe he was very serious.

"You can't know someone after only one dance," she whispered. Her eyes were round and beseeching as they turned again. They were Romani, gypsies, wanderers. They didn't get mysteriously welcomed to balls, or made to feel like the shadow that had cloaked their entire life was being slowly lifted away. Ryuuji took her hand in his, noting how they seemed to fit much like linking pieces of a puzzle.

"Then give me another."

The music swelled at its close, and Ishizu joined the others in clapping their thanks. Ryuuji offered her his hand again, and after a moment's hesitation she took it.

..

Marik kicked a loose stone from the walkway that led around the palace's formal gardens. He wasn't one to suffer the wealthy. They displayed such overzealous expenditure—of costume and of loudness of speech.

He heard the soft cadenced footfall of someone running. He turned and was almost bowled over by that someone—a man in a dashingly cut suit with a wine-red tie that looked as if he'd spilled something on it. The man leaped around him without even deigning to glance in his direction and was gone at the crossroads of the garden's hedges. Several uniformed men soon followed, kicking up a cloud of dust and small stones in their wake.

"Where did he go?" One of them asked him. "Did you see a thief? Which way was he running?"

Marik thought for a moment, then gestured to his right, deeper into the garden's maze. The men thanked him and continued on, running past him and out of sight.

After a moment, he ducked around the hedge and continued to the left, the direction the mysterious thief had gone. He had barely turned the corner when a hand had reached out and pulled him into a dark alcove of the garden.

In the shadow of a large statue, the thief stood out like a white ghost. "You helped me," he said almost accusingly, his hand grasping at the starched fabric of Marik's suit jacket. "Why?"

Marik let the unanswered questions hang in the air. Who are you, what do you want, and what can you gain by helping me? The thief looked down his nose at him proudly, as if the assistance itself was unneeded—how _dare_ he even try!

"I don't have to have any reason," Marik said, angry at the pride in the thief's voice. "And I certainly didn't do it for you."

His eyebrows rose, as if by his admission he was actually implying the reverse. "All the same," he said, "I am in your debt. How can I be of assistance?" He made a mockery of a bow in the cramped space behind the statue.

Marik knew it was impulsive, knew that Ishizu and Rishid wouldn't approve, and yet it made him want to act all the more. "I want to know where you're going," he said, relishing in the look on the thief's face at his words. "I want you to take me there."

..

Ishizu had returned back to the palace later that week, hoping to find the man who had spoken to her as if he had known her far longer than only one evening. Her skin still held the memory of his touch, and in her mind's eye the gala continued on. They had never traveled to a city of this size before, and never a royal capital. She had never met a Duke before. She had never met anyone royal before.

"Are you lost, or are you looking for someone?" The melodic voice jolted her out of her reveries. "You have the look of a seeker, but what is it you want to find?"

They were at opposing ends of a hallway. If not for the dress, Ishizu would have thought she was facing a mirror. Startled, she glanced behind her, confirming that they were alone. No one else had even attempted to approach her as she had wandered through the castle. "Nothing," Ishizu said, attempting to mask her surprise. "I'm just admiring the general splendor."

"I am fortunate that there were those willing to build such a house for their sovereign," she replied, a smile creeping into the corners of her mouth when Ishizu realized who she was talking to. Ishizu bowed deeply, one ankle curving behind the other as she had seen others do.

"Queen Isis, I did not know—"

"Don't trouble yourself on my account." At her words, Ishizu rose slowly, her eyes lifting up to reach the face of the Queen. She should have known instantly, everything about this woman was regal. She could have been carved from dark granite; her features were so finely chiseled. "If you admire the palace so much, would you like a tour?"

She could speak to Ryuuji later; she knew enough to never refuse such an offer. Isis took her by the elbow and guided her along the hallway, speaking in hushed tones on the illustrious history of the palace. To an outsider, it would have looked like she was whispering a secret into her ear.

"Few people have laid eyes on this place," Isis said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It is where I keep all that is most dear to me. Every treasure I have found on my travels." She pushed open the darkly-stained wooden door, revealing a perfectly round room. The various shelves displayed antiquities from across the known world. Some were old; some parchment scrolls were from her original lifetime in pharaonic Egypt. Ishizu ran to one of the items along the wall; a Moorish chess set covered with uncut jewels. Isis hovered in the doorway. "Do you like it?"

"It is wonderful! Oh thank you, Isis." So overcome she forgot to use her proper title, Ishizu gazed at a colorful tapestry that adorned another portion of the wall. It was an intricately woven map—the water was deep indigo flecked with lighter blue, and the sands where she was born sparkled with iridescence like a honeycomb.

The Queen joined her in the room, the long hem of her dress making her appear to float over the ground. "It has always been my wish to learn as much as I can about the past; about the world as it once was." Ishizu had hardly even shared these thoughts with her brothers. It was a secret she kept within herself because she didn't want to disappoint her family with its impracticality.

Isis was intrigued, reaching around Ishizu to gently trace a line upon the map from the Black Sea to the Nile delta. "Only the past, and not the future?" The fine fabric of her sleeves brushed against Ishizu's arm as she pulled back.

This woman seemed to know much about her but she couldn't even begin to guess the reason she would rather fill her head with knowledge of the past. She was Romani; it was expected of her to be able to divine the future. It was a skill passed down the female line. She didn't wish to know any more about it because it had always brought her family great pain; their parents, the disastrous journey across the desert, each subsequent move until that moment had been foretold like a flicker of light in a swirl of shadow; portending something bright but nevertheless pulling her in deeper with its seductive power. "I would have the past, if I could choose between them." She couldn't choose.

Isis drew back, moving to a cloth-covered stand in the center of the room. "This is my most precious Item," she said, revealing the gold diadem underneath. "It is unique—you won't find another like it in the entire world." She saw Ishizu's reflection in the glinting gold; it could have been herself. "Would you like to learn about the past?" she asked, seeing her eyes light up in the glassy sheen of the gold. "I can teach you more about the world."

It was all she could hope for. "Yes," Ishizu whispered, as if afraid she would rescind her offer, as if afraid that for once in her life, all that she could have ever hoped for was within her grasp, yet just out of reach.

..

Ryuuji hesitated. His hand was curled into a fist yet his palms had still begun to sweat. He raised a hand and knocked twice on the door, quickly and loudly, and was greeted by someone he didn't recognize.

Marik looked at the visitor, perplexed that anyone should be calling upon them. Who did they know in this town? Marik kept a firm hand on the door, gazing distrustfully at him. "Who are you and what do you want?"

Ryuuji smoothed the front of his coat anxiously, unprepared for such a greeting. "My name is Duke Ryuuji Otogi." They were each silent a moment longer, before he continued, "…Is there an Ishizu at this residence?"

"No, she's away," Marik said, and glanced inside, where his own visitor was undoubtedly listening in. He and Ryuuji stared at each other for a minute more, each shuffling their feet in an attempt to stimulate conversation.

Ryuuji could feel his palms becoming moist again. Yet he couldn't just leave—and besides, he should attempt to get to know her family better, even if they could stand to learn a thing or two about hospitality. He coughed twice, cleared his throat but didn't speak.

"…Would you like to come in for a minute? She could come back." Marik would never hear the end of it if they had missed each other by a few minutes, although he was still mystified as to why a Duke of all people was calling on his sister.

Marik held open the door and Ryuuji entered, shrugging his coat off as he stepped over the threshold. "I'm Marik, Ishizu's brother," he said as they sat down in the tiny sitting room. "And this is Bakura." He pointed to the third man lounging on a patterned couch set against one wall.

Ryuuji cast an eye on this wraithlike acquaintance; he was a man Ryuuji knew if only by reputation. He threw one leg over the other and attempted to relax in the worn armchair. There was only enough seating for the three of them, and Ryuuji suspected that the rest of their home was not much improved upon the room he was in. "So this is where you all live?"

"I'm sure its nothing compared to livelihood of a Duke," Marik said, suddenly affronted, turning his eyes harshly upon the visitor, "But with only one man working for the benefit of three, as meager as it is, it is all we can afford."

"I always say," Bakura interrupted, lazily reclining further into the rolled arms of the couch, "at this point, the only foreseeable solution is to turn to a life of crime."

"Of course," Marik said, laughing. "We should break into the Queen's treasure vault and have riches beyond our wildest imaginations."

Ryuuji stood up as they laughed, unsure what to make of them—and unsure whether he'd rather have them as friends or adversaries. "I'd hate to impose…" he began, beginning to think they were already forgetting him. "I think I'll come back later." He did, however, have the distinct feeling he'd overstayed his welcome.

..

"I think that's enough for today," Isis knew when to stop telling her stories of the past—when Ishizu was most engrossed in them. "Besides, there's another gala event this evening. I don't want to keep you."

"Another?" Ishizu slowly rose from her chair, longingly trailing her fingers across the pages of a book that lay open upon the table. "Why so many?"

"Do you remember what I spoke of the last time we met?" Isis had talked of power, and of the rise and fall of dynasties. "When Rome was at its height of glory, its emperor made it a point to provide his people with bread and circuses." She turned, as if motioning to the finery that surrounded them. "I give the people what they want. Entertainment. Splendor. Revelry, refreshment…" Her eyes glittered. "Distraction."

The moment passed, Isis' face returned to its pleasant mask. "I trust that you'll be attending? Your family?"

"I'm not sure." Ishizu fingered the common fabric of her own dress; it wasn't suitable for such an event.

Isis' eyes glowed at the opportunity. "Come with me," she said, taking Ishizu's arm without waiting for an answer. "I'll find you something."

Ishizu found herself standing, minutes later, inside the antechamber of the royal apartments themselves. It reminded her of the chess set with the uncut stones—although nothing sparkled with gold, no fixtures dripped crystal there was no mistaking the elegance of the space and of its user.

Isis returned, a dark green dress draped over one arm. "It is yours," she said, passing her the garment.

"Oh, I couldn't—"

"Try it on, tell me if you like it." With a small, secret smile Isis departed, her skirt swishing behind her as she retreated further into her own chamber.

Ishizu glanced around the receiving-room, unsure of how to proceed. The main door was closed; the door leading to the rest of the suite remained open. She held the dress up to herself, looking down to estimate how it would look upon her. The material felt soft and cool.

She backed up to a corner of the room and quickly changed, shedding the old dress and stepping into the new one. The suite was completely silent and Ishizu realized that she, too, was holding her breath. She pulled her arms through the straps of the gown and closed the back, only then pausing to examine the rest of it. Through the bodice and shoulders it fit perfectly, although she would have preferred a bit more fabric to cover her arms.

She was arranging her hair before an antique mirror when Isis returned, herself changed into a deep red gown. She approached Ishizu much like a cat, making each movement purposeful. "It is curious," Isis murmured, reaching out to Ishizu's reflection in the mirror. Transfixed, Ishizu repeated the gesture. "I could almost be you…" Isis whispered, her fingers caressing the surface of the mirror. "Yet your brothers…"

"Brother…" Ishizu said, her eyes fluttering closed. "Only one…"

"Really?" Isis said, her other arm reaching for the girl. "Who..?"

"Rishid isn't related… to us…" Ishizu's eyes snapped open suddenly. It was as if she had just woken up, yet she hadn't been sleeping. What had she said—had she told Isis that they were Romani?

Isis smiled reassuringly, her hand closing around Ishizu's arm, just above her elbow. "It's time. The gala is starting." She ushered Ishizu out of the room. As the door closed, Isis leant against it, mind racing. She had to know more about Rishid… her Mahad… her—

She shook her head to clear it. She had to get closer to Ishizu; for both of their sakes she had to.

..

Ryuuji paced along one corridor adjoining the ballroom. He could hear the strains of music and see the whirling couples, yet the one thing he wanted to see had yet to appear. "Where is she?" he muttered, continuing to match his steps pace for pace. "Ishizu, where are you?"

"—and always with that man with the silver hair—"

"—I saw Crawford there only the other day—"

Ryuuji's attention caught, he looked over to where two elderly men where talking in hushed tones in one corner of the corridor. "Crawford? The man with the silver hair?" Ryuuji had seen him before—only most recently outside of Ishizu's home.

"You should be concerned, Duke," one of them warned, motioning Ryuuji to come closer. "You must know how the woman you're after is the Queen's new favorite."

"We know the rumors and the old tales," another said. "Some of them might be proved true."

Ryuuji scoffed, turning his back on them. "Idle gossip," he said, unsure if he was ignoring their warnings because he didn't want to hear them or because he had already heard them.

"Ryuuji!"

He opened his arms and embraced Ishizu. He held her, his fingers briefly skimming over the fine satin of her dress and resting upon her shoulders. Without letting go, he began to pull her towards the center of the room. "Dance with me."

..

"Where are we going?" Marik asked as he followed Bakura through the streets surrounding the palace. They weaved around others headed towards the palace yet they continued onwards, dodging down one side road of cobblestone streets, uneven by centuries' worth of foot traffic.

Bakura only smirked, pulling him along behind him. "You'll see."

The narrow alley opened up into a large open plaza filled with people. Lights were strung between windows, bringing the glow of the stars down to the level of the streets. Over the sound of voices Marik could faintly hear the strains of music, and to one side, he saw stacks upon stacks of glass bottles and larger wooden containers. He turned to Bakura. "What is this?"

Bakura spread his arms out grandly, as if this was all because of him. "Welcome to the other side of the party."

..

Rishid stormed into the palace ballroom, intent on finding his sister. What a change only a few short weeks had made in her—and now, night had fallen and she had yet to return home. Marik as well had wandered off. The burden lay upon him to reunite the family. They should not have come here; it had only brought them farther apart.

He thought he saw her off in one corner yet as he approached it was clear that it wasn't Ishizu at all. The woman bore a startling resemblance to her, yet there was something...off about this one. Something different, something darker. The woman smiled at him, beckoning him closer with her hand. "You don't have to ask," Isis said. "I'll dance with you."

The music slowed, the lights seemed to dim as each partner took their place. Rishid took her hand in his as they whirled around the room. He spun her out, then back into him. She raised her hand and gently touched his cheek. His eyes… they looked so similar. They were each so selfless. She appraised him again as they turned.

..

Ishizu could only faintly hear the lamenting cadence of the violins as Ryuuji gently lead her in a much slower waltz. They had left the crowd of the ballroom in favor of the terrace to the gardens outside. Outside, she could think. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

Although the music continued to play from inside, they had come to a standstill. Neither moved, Ishizu just looked up at him. He looked down at her.

Then he kissed her, just like that.

..

Marik hugged the bottle to his chest. At first, the taste was sharp and it burned his tongue, but now he felt like his head was just too fuzzy to notice anything like that. Everything sensory seemed to run together.

The whirlwind of colors coalesced into a shape. Bakura, grinning wickedly at him. "Having fun?" he drawled.

Marik moved his hand, as if to gently touch Bakura's face. As if to caress it. Instead, he punched him, his fist connecting squarely on Bakura's right cheek. He stumbled backwards, laughing darkly. After a moment, he wrestled the glass bottle away from Marik's grasp, throwing it behind him. Marik put up a fight but it was easy work to get his hands behind his back, holding them there with only one hand. Bakura could feel the rise and fall of Marik's chest as he breathed, he could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"That wasn't very smart," Bakura said, fighting a smile at Marik's mock-fighting. "You're mine now."

..

They turned around each other in the center of the room, the music at its height. Rishid had led the dance but he could tell that this woman was completely in control. He had seen her and he had heard the whispers, the rumors.

Queen Isis.

She pulled their bodies flush together; her breath ghosted against his ear. Her lips brushed against his neck. She could feel his pulse and hear his heartbeat, strong and steady even then. Just like him. She wondered if this was a test, or if it really was him, her Mahad returned to her. She wondered if he would taste any different than his so-called sister.

..

As the orchestra finished their song, the violins leading the musical ascent to a high finish, three waltzes ended.

Ryuuji led Ishizu away from the palace, intent on keeping her safe.

Rishid backed slowly away from Isis, desperate to warn his sister. He had to tell her what he feared. She was in danger. They both were in danger.

Marik's world was enveloped in bliss; his senses dulled until one very particular sensation from one particular person demanded his entire concentration. He raised one tentative hand to touch his lips thoughtfully.

..

The city was buzzing with activity.

"—the most celebrated inventions in recent history—"

"—and he's coming here! Tesla is to give a demonstration himself! Everyone will be attending—"

Inside the cramped sitting room, Bakura moved to sit properly in the patterned couch, swinging his legs over the arm and placing his feet firmly upon the floor. "I think it is the perfect time to stage a theft, don't you?"

Marik looked up from reading the newspaper. He had heard the news, but the city's gossip had quickly escalated and they had to know for certain what sort of gala the Queen would host. "Everyone will be at the palace. It will be dangerous."

"Everyone will be sufficiently distracted by this!" Bakura motioned to the paper. "No one will even notice us. You know the Queen has countless treasures—you told me your sister has seen them. It will be simple. The perfect crime."

Marik stared at the newspaper, still uncertain. Large letters proclaimed the news: Inventor Tesla brings light to city: demonstration open to public. Bakura's words still echoed in his mind.

"_The perfect crime."_

..

It was almost too easy.

While the rest of them had been entranced by the show of sparkling light, crackling like lightning, Marik and Bakura had found their way into the chamber. No guards were posted; Queen Isis was nowhere to be seen. The treasures lay unguarded. Marik hesitantly reached for one of the chess pieces. He stared into the face of a sculpted pawn encrusted with gemstones.

"Hurry and take something, then let's get out of here!" Bakura hissed. Marik reached for another piece, his elbow knocking against a colorful tapestry hung against the wall.

"I think… there's an opening in the wall behind it!" Marik swept the fabric aside, revealing a small passageway cut into the circular wall. Without a thought he followed it, the fabric rustling into place behind him. Without a thought, Bakura followed him.

The room they were in was made of rough-hewn stones and completely undecorated. Glass vials were stacked in coarse wooden shelves, and Bakura picked one up, opening it. "Marik, we need to leave now," he said.

Marik continued further into the room, his foot catching on a strip of fabric. He held it up to his face to see it clearly in the darkness, to find his hand clutching the tattered remains of clothing smeared with red. He looked around at the vials, seeing some of them filled with a dark liquid. "No…" He felt his throat go dry. "It can't be."

He jumped at the sound of footsteps heading towards them. A man entered the room, his face hidden by a cloak of silver hair. The man known as Crawford grinned menacingly at them. "You can't leave now," he said, an edge to the cheerful tone of his words. He advanced towards them, blocking their only exit.

..

The room was nearly completely dark. Each of the revelers wore only black costumes to blend into the sea of darkness. Every so often, the machines in the center of the room would give off a spark of electricity, lighting up the room for a few brief seconds. It appeared as if their shadows were dancing alongside them.

Ryuuji had a plan—it would end that night. Isis had to be stopped before she could cause harm to anyone else. He knew that Ishizu was what she wanted. He would force her hand; she would have to act. And then, he would expose her to her ruin.

They began the dance, the pair of them. He saw her face in the flash of light for an instant as he spun her out, only to have her spin away as the figure changed. He couldn't see anything yet he kept getting pushed back by the crowd of dancers spinning around the room. The lightning flashed again and Ryuuji stilled—he would find her. He had to.

Ishizu was at the far side of the room, away from him and surrounded by concentric circles of revelers, unknowingly keeping them apart. He strained to see her partner.

Ishizu felt the hand that enclosed hers tightly, heard the quiet, triumphant laugh of the woman she had once admired above all else and the next flash of light confirmed what she already knew. Isis' face smirked at her in the light, challenging her. "What do you want with me?" Ishizu asked as the room descended into semidarkness again.

Isis' lips hovered near her ear. "I just want you."

Ishizu searched desperately in the darkness for Ryuuji's eyes. Ryuuji could see her, his lip curled with anger over being unable to help, to go to her, to do anything. He continued to weave through the crowds and be pushed back by them, helplessly lost in the sea of darkness.

He surged through the crowd in the last expanse of light to find himself alone in the center of the dance. Both Isis and Ishizu were gone.

Ryuuji ran through the ballroom, skirting a corridor to the hallway he knew led to the Queen's chambers. Out of the darkness, a hand reached for his arm—

"Rishid!"

Ryuuji jumped, startled, as the man appeared before him. He was breathing heavily, his eyes desperate. "Where is she?" Rishid asked.

"Isis has her." They continued to run together down the corridor. "She's mad, and she has to be stopped before she kills her—"

"It's worse than that. Marik and Bakura are here too—I don't know where. She could have them as well." Rishid's voice came out in pants as they descended a flight of stairs, and then continued along another hallway. "We could split up—I'll find Marik, you get Ishizu. Can I trust you to do that?"

"I'll get her back," Ryuuji swore. They parted ways.

..

"What do you desire? And how far would you be willing to go to obtain that desire?"

The treasure room, the room that had started it all, now looked so ugly to her. They weren't treasures at all. Ishizu felt her heart pounding in her chest; it thudded in her ears. "Let me go."

"I can't do that. You all know too much—it would be a shame to let such a… promising life…go to waste, though." Isis' eyes glittered at the thought.

"Ishizu!" The door was flung open and Ryuuji burst inside, running towards her. "I—"

"Not so fast." From behind the tapestry a figure stepped out, catching Ryuuji around the neck in a fierce hold.

"Let her go!" Ryuuji shouted. Crawford tightened his hold as Ryuuji struggled. "Crawford, you're working for the devil!"

"He's my chevalier," Isis said, tightening her own hold on Ishizu's arm. "He is loyal only to me. Ryuuji, you should never have come—you forced my hand, but in the end I have to thank you." Isis turned again to Ishizu. "Make your choice: him, or me. Choose him and end his life or choose me and spare him."

Ishizu looked between the two of them. She had nothing but compassion for one, driven to the depths of darkness she could never comprehend; yet she had affection for the other, a warm spark in her heart that she never wanted to quench. She doubted she could ever be strong enough to duplicate the pact Isis had made.

_What do you desire? And how far would you be willing to go to obtain that desire?_

"I choose—"

The silvered handle of a knife ripped an X through the tapestry; Bakura leaped through it, followed closely by Marik and Rishid. "You're done," Bakura said, charging at Isis with his knife. Ishizu quickly wrenched her arm out of Isis' grip, backing into one of the display shelves set up around the room, nearly overturning a large grecian urn.

Rishid tackled Crawford, freeing Ryuuji who quickly ran to Ishizu. Marik grabbed a large hard-bound book from one shelf and, raising it above his head, brought it down on Crawford's head. The man tumbled to the floor, unconscious. Ryuuji pulled an engraved sword from another wall display and joined Bakura, his knife still pointed at Isis.

"It's over." Ryuuji's hands gripped the hilt of the sword surely. "Your reign over the night ends now."

"I won't," she said, her eyes wild. "I can't, not until I find him, my Mahad—"

He had plunged the sword forwards, deeper than he thought he could, and her body had twisted in the worst possible way... Ishizu would never forget the way Ryuuji looked: surprised, shocked, incredulous. He didn't want to believe that he had actually done it and would still be asking himself whether or not he meant to.

Everything froze the instant Ryuuji's sword hit its mark. Crimson began to spread from the wound where he had stabbed her in the heart. She tried to turn her body away from the metal, to somehow twist it away from her body, yet it ended up driving it farther in.

Everyone stepped backwards as she staggered in a circle, her eyes wandering to each of them in turn. She stopped, her feet stumbling towards one in particular. "Mahad," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It was all for you, Mahad."

She fell after two steps, blood seeping from the wound that refused to clot. Her eyes were beginning to close, yet she reached one trembling arm towards Rishid. "It really is you... I'm coming, Maha..."

They all watched on as her eyes closed for the last time. For a moment, all was silent. Ishizu was struck not only with sorrow tinged with relief that everyone she loved hadn't been hurt, but she was overcome with the most curious grief at how the stand in the center of the room had become smashed during the fight. The cloth that covered the necklace only Ishizu knew lay underneath had already begun to soak in the red that coated it, the life force that so many had died to sustain, for the hope of the future, for love.

She quickly lifted the fabric and took the necklace underneath into her hand. It was still perfectly golden—nothing had touched it at all.

* * *

The End.

* * *

_Author's Notes_:

The girl at the beginning is Miho; cameos by Pegasus Crawford and Tesla (a real life person!) who I can only imagine as looking like David Bowie, are also scattered throughout the piece.

Umbrella disclaimer that not only do I not own YGO, but I do not intend any disrespect for any people who are actually descended from Romani or are a part of that heritage. I don't want to romanticize or idealize, or make any stereotypes, it is just an outlet I haven't ever seen explored in fanfiction and I believe it ties in well with the Ishtar trio. This story went through about a zillion mental iterations and was inspired by a variety of sources: watching Moulin Rouge on valentine's day and re-watching the _Tango de Roxane _number on youtube for about an hour was pretty creatively inspiring for some reason. Finally, thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


	8. Black King

I've never been to Cairo, so I'm basing a lot of the ambiance of the city on Istanbul, where I was lucky enough to spend some time there a few years ago. Written for the YGO Fanfiction Contest Round Twelve, Challenge Pairing Bondageshipping: Dark MarikxRyuuji Otogi, with a side-pairing of MarikxRyuuji. This is a reboot of the series set just before the events of the first season.

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"**Black King"**

"_Quite unique among chess openings, the King's gambit is especially apt for talent, for genius, for heroism."_

_- Tony Santasiere_

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**Ryuuji Otogi shut the car door harsher than he'd anticipated**, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the narrow alley they had stopped in. He paid the taxi driver and entered the hotel, pulling one suitcase behind him with each arm. The place he was staying at was old enough to be worn-down, lacking the antique charm that dotted the rest of the landscape of Cairo. He had picked someplace cheap; he wasn't sure how long he would need to be here. Long enough until the job got done, he supposed.

It was a silly thing, flying halfway around the world to chase a dream. Yet what was worth such trouble if not dreams?

It was the work of years, the achievement of his lifetime—and it was almost perfect. He called it Dungeon Dice Monsters, and he was certain it would change the world, much like the modern game from which he drew his inspiration. And once the creator of that inspiration saw the potential that he knew was there, Ryuuji would be able to show his own creation to the rest of the world. He just needed the capital that Industrial Illusions had in spades.

The only problem was that Maximillian Pegasus was a hard man to reach. He couldn't get to Pegasus on his own time, so Ryuuji was going to find him on his. So he had come to Cairo—a sprawling metropolis with an eye on both the past and the future, to find the one person who could give him his dream.

The next morning after a leisurely breakfast Ryuuji set out to the Peninsula—it was the nicest hotel in the city, and the only place a man like Pegasus would stay. He knew from placing a call to the I2 office a week prior that Pegasus had arrived only a day before him, and would be in Egypt for the next week—he had posed as an attaché from Kaiba Corporation, an act that never failed to get him straight through to Pegasus' personal assistant. He supposed that only the man himself would get Pegasus' undivided attention.

Ryuuji made the walk easily—it was still early enough that the heat wasn't oppressive and the streets weren't yet crowded by tourists or Cairo natives off to work, school, church or wherever their lives took them. He had a slim composition notebook tucked into his pocket and while he waited in front of the hotel he continued his sketches of the pieces in his DDM game, drawing out the various ways that the six-sided dice could be unfurled.

He didn't have to wait for long—not an hour later he saw the distinctive crown of silver hair, the trademarked red suit switched out for a less conspicuous khaki ensemble. Ryuuji flagged down a taxi as Pegasus entered a waiting Town Car, giving the single-minded taxicab driver all the monetary incentive he needed to follow the car to wherever its destination would be. That destination turned out to be the Cairo Museum of Antiquities, and Ryuuji blended in to the swarms of tourists, grabbing a glossy folded map as he kept pace with his target.

When Pegasus turned down one hallway away from the exhibits Ryuuji took his chance, quickening his pace as he went, the map outstretched as if he was lost in the museum. "Excuse me?" He called, stopping Pegasus and his omnipresent companion in the hallway. "Wait—"

"You'll have much better luck if you return to the main atrium," Pegasus said, his voice a clipped indication of courtesy that barely edged against tolerance. "I'm afraid that unless your aim is to reach one particular office, I cannot help you."

"I'm sure that you can, Mr. Pegasus," Ryuuji said, discreetly re-folding the map and tucking it into his pocket. "I need to speak with you about something I know you'll want to hear. My name is Ryuuji Otogi and—"

"And you're the one who keeps calling our office about that invention of yours. I recognize that name," Pegasus' associate stepped forward, blocking the path between the two with his body. "I told you that the answer is no."

"Well, I won't take no for an answer!" Ryuuji shouted a little louder than he intended, sidestepping the suit. He had gotten this far and he was not about to stop now. "I have an idea for a new game, one that could be just as big as Duel Monsters. Please just hear me out… that's all I'm asking. Just listen to me."

"I'm not sold yet, but I'll give you twenty minutes to convince me. The Peninsula Hotel, 2PM, three days from now. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it." Ryuuji couldn't suppress his smile. At last, he was on his way! He stuck out his hand as the sound of a clock chiming the hour wove through the hallway. "I'd hate to keep you, so I'll see you then."

The chimes seemed to distract Pegasus; he stared at Ryuuji's outstretched hand for a moment before murmuring to himself, "only just long enough to miss my appointment," before firmly clasping Ryuuji's hand in his own. He turned sharply on one heel before walking back in the direction that he had come, his shadow mingling with another on the time-worn floors.

Ryuuji stood still, unable to believe his good luck—since he had arrived in Cairo, fortune had been on his side. He only hoped that it would last. He heard one of the side doors open and ignored it, certain that the rooms on this wing were mere offices. He pulled out the map from his pocket, intending to see if there was any interesting exhibits that he could see, but a hand quickly curled around his arm and pulled him into a darkened office, the door closing swiftly behind him. It had happened so quickly he didn't even have time to make a sound.

His eyes blinked back against the darkness. There were three other people in the room; one holding each arm and a tall man standing before him. Each wore a dark cloak of a coarse material that scratched against his arms. Ryuuji struggled, attempting to twist out of their grip and knocking his leg into a heavy wooden office desk in the process. "You just made a huge mistake," he said, bluffing confidence as his captors' grip tightened.

"Tell us who you work for. What are you doing here?" The man in the center said, the hood of his cloak obscuring his features. His voice was dark and pitched low.

"Who do I work for? What is this, some undercover operation? Are you guys for real?" Now that Ryuuji could see the room, he could tell that they were in an office; with several well-stocked bookshelves against the walls, the desk in the place of honor.

The man leaned forward, his hood falling back to reveal a harshly-defined jaw line. A black tattoo with lines of ancient, indecipherable text obscured half of his face. "I assure you that this is very much real. And the consequences for noncompliance will be…severe."

"Look, I didn't do anything! Who are you people?" The man holding Ryuuji's right arm tightened his grip, a tacit reminder of their respective positions of power.

"Oh yes you did. Your interference with one Maximilian Pegasus caused him to miss his appointment, a… considerable setback for our organization. I'm sure you are familiar with the Rare Hunters? Anyone with business with Pegasus must know of us."

"I'm meeting with Pegasus to discuss a new game! Duel Monsters is the game of the past; like I would even give it a minute of my time!" Ryuuji bit out. It infuriated him—it was Dungeon Dice Monsters that would take the world by storm. Of course he had to be taken in by men who made their entire livelihood on the game that he so wanted to eclipse.

The man regarded him coolly for a moment, as if assessing the situation. "You could still be useful to us," he said, folding his arms. "You're coming with us—it has been decided. Welcome to the Rare Hunters."

"What? You're joking…" Ryuuji spluttered, completely disbelieving. "You can't do this—I want to talk to your boss."

"I am the leader of the Rare Hunters," the man said.

"No you're not," Ryuuji said. He had always prided himself on the ability to read people, to understand people's expressions and body language just as well as the words they spoke. And all of the cues were telling him that this man was not the one in control. "You're not the leader of the Rare Hunters. I can tell."

They were at an impasse for a minute, neither side moving. Finally, the man on Ryuuji's right released his arm and started to clap, the dull sound echoing in the office room. "Very good," he said, his voice a purr. "I might almost be impressed." He swept back the hem of his cloak in a mockery of a bow. "My name is Marik Ishtar, and he is my brother Rishid."

"…and the third one?"

"This is his office. I don't know who he is."

Now Ryuuji turned towards Marik, now fully feeling the intensity of the situation. This man was the real deal, he could tell that right away. What he lacked in physical intimidation he made up for in everything else. "And do you want me to join the Rare Hunters?"

"We usually don't give you a choice," Marik said calmly, and Ryuuji caught a glint of something golden tied to his belt. "It would be a shame to break tradition now."

Ryuuji felt a sharp prick on his arm, and a moment later he didn't feel anything at all.

.

**The first thing Ryuuji saw when he woke was the airy ceiling of a warehouse building**. He was lying on three folding-chairs pushed together, and when he rolled over he tipped over and fell onto the rough cement floor. He cursed under his breath, rubbing the spot on his arm that still felt sore.

"You're awake. Took you long enough." Marik stood several meters away, smirking at him.

"Getting back at me because I figured out your secret so quickly?" Ryuuji tried to resist the impulse to rub at his arm again. He would not give Marik the satisfaction.

In response he only laughed. "I have plenty more secrets that you won't ever figure out. And if you do, maybe no one will ever see you again. If you want to leave, just do what we tell you."

They walked into an adjoining room, where a group of cloaked figures were huddled around a large folding table. As they got closer Ryuuji could see a pile of brightly-colored laminated cards. "Duel Monsters Cards?" he whispered.

"Sort them by type and number of stars," Marik instructed. "Don't waste your time talking to any of them; they won't respond. And don't try to escape, either. I'll know."

Ryuuji filled in the last gap around the table, where the pile of cards was slowly being sorted into small, neat stacks. He reached for one card, than another. To pass the time, he studied the bright pictures on each card, translating the images of dragons, sorcerers, and other scenes into Dungeon Dice Monsters tokens. He didn't know much about the Rare Hunters, but he could tell that either they were either trying to accumulate as many cards as they could or they were looking for something. He suspected the latter.

That night, Rishid wordlessly ushered him to a small fire just outside the compound where Marik was lounging with one booted foot crossed over the other. Marik tossed him a bottle of beer, the label worn away.

"So… what were you really talking to Pegasus about?" Marik clinked his bottle against Ryuuji's, then settled back against the outside wall of the warehouse.

"Not like you'd care, but… I was trying to pitch him an idea that I had for a new game," Ryuuji took a long sip—Cairo was hot and dusty, and he had had one hell of a day. He deserved it.

"A new game called Dungeon Dice Monsters. I'm still working out a few things but it has potential."

Marik re-crossed his ankles, the glowing embers from the fire causing the shadows across his face to dance. "What inspired it? Your game."

Ryuuji paused. He had never been asked that question before. "…I suppose I want to change the way people look at Duel Monsters. I've seen people try to bend the rules countless times. Dice are completely based on the luck of the throw. It's a better way to play."

"But why call it Dungeon Dice Monsters?" He could almost hear the smile in Marik's voice.

"Why not?" he replied irritably, finishing his drink.

"Just curious." Marik couldn't stop smirking. It was almost too easy to get under his skin.

"I've been trying to get to Pegasus for over a month now," Ryuuji continued, desperate to change the subject. "I've always admired how he was able to create such a lasting empire. I hope to see him as a mentor, almost like a father figure to me."

_Father figure to me…_

_Father figure to_

_Father figure_

_Father—_

Marik gasped, the empty bottle falling to the ground as he clutched his head in his hands. Ryuuji stood up on unsteady feet; unsure of how to act when Marik suddenly stopped; snapping his head back upwards in a way that seemed to throw his hair into further disarray. Even his shadow appeared sharper, starker against the dying glow of the fire. He stood up, stepping over the fire towards Ryuuji. "Do you know what inspired Duel Monsters?" he asked. "Ancient Egyptian Shadow Games. The game that has permeated the world is itself steeped in death and destruction."

"I…I didn't know that," Ryuuji said, his mind whirring through the pleasant haze of only a moment ago.

"I know much that you don't," he said, and it was then that Ryuuji noticed his voice had become completely devoid of inflection. "Things you could never know. Of the past, and of the twisting tendrils of darkness that lurk in men's hearts. Of the present, and of the power that stays always in men's minds."

"You lead an organization in the Egyptian underworld whose soul purpose is power. Of course you know about it." Ryuuji laughed, completely unaware of the other transition of power that had occurred in his companion.

He had already begun to reach for the golden Millennium Item that hung from his belt but when he heard Ryuuji's laugh his fingers stopped, momentarily frozen by indecision. It was the work of another moment to trace the source of the laughter and he pulled the Item into his grasp without further hesitation. He would make him pay, he would make them all pay—

"You know, I don't really understand you, and to be honest I think you're more than a little weird, but you know what? I like that." Ryuuji smirked, sidestepped around him, and headed back into the building, his long hair bobbing with each step.

He continued to stand just outside the threshold, Millennium Rod in his hand, looking back and forth from the golden staff to the cavernous space of the warehouse. One second later, and he would have been under, just like that. He could feel his alter fighting against him with every twitch of his fingers and every beat of his own heart, but he simply smirked and slid the Item back into the loops of his belt. He turned his attention to the rest of the compound; the small patch of grass and dirt that he stood in, and the city beyond. He decided it was the perfect time to stretch his legs.

.

**Ryuuji awoke with a slight headache and a bigger thirst**, and went wandering around the compound for anything that looked like a refrigerator. He was more than aware of his situation as all but a captive of the Rare Hunters—even an honorary member, if he was to believe anything that Marik Ishtar said—but a small part of him knew that everything would work itself out in the end. It was his lifelong mantra, and had always proven true. He had two more days here before his meeting with Pegasus. That was his moment to break away from the pack and return back to his own hotel, and then to catch the first flight out of there.

Rishid found him wandering through one hallway and directed him to follow him back to his own rooms. "So… are you on board with all of this?" Ryuuji asked, waving a hand around to sum up the entire compound and what it represented.

"I live to serve Marik. I won't question any of his orders." Rishid opened an ancient off-white fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

"Geesh, you sound like he's brainwashed you all." Ryuuji twisted open the bottle and began to polish it off. He looked up, a little unnerved at Rishid's intense gaze. "…What?"

"I will always follow him, and I will always protect him. Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear." Ryuuji finished the water and was given another. He took a few more swallows before continuing, sizing up Rishid as someone trustworthy, if nothing else. "What I don't understand is why your little operation even exists. I went into a few of those rooms—completely on accident, but still—you've got case after case of cards stockpiled up here. I've even seen a closet that could be a small armory, even though it is all retro KC stuff, a little outdated but still gets the job done. Are you people seriously killing over these cards? What is so important that you all need guns? Just what is at stake here?"

"I told you—power."

It was Marik in the doorway, looking a little ragged and as if he hadn't slept—at least, that is what Ryuuji assumed due to the darkness of his eyes and the messiness of his hair. "Duel Monsters is a game where power is exchanged. It can be won or lost, and I intend to win." He surveyed his brother coldly and Rishid froze, his hands halfway up to the hood of his cloak. Marik nodded just barely, his smile a secret to one and an invitation to the other.

Ryuuji scoffed. "Do you seriously think you can control the world by winning a game?"

Marik continued to smile, deliberately closing the door behind him as he fully entered the room. "War, passion, life or death—it is all just a game. A throw of the dice, you would say. But who's to say that I can't?"

Before Marik could react Rishid threw back the hood of his cloak, revealing the scripted bands that ran across the leftmost side of his face. Instantly, Marik collapsed, his limbs bending to accommodate the fall. Ryuuji almost expected him to catch himself at the last, but he sank to the ground, his head landing on one outstretched arm. For a moment there was silence. Ryuuji quickly broke it. "What in the hell just happened?"

Rishid was already moving to Marik's side, checking his pulse, lifting him effortlessly and placing him in a small bed in the adjoining room. "It is none of your concern," he said, softly closing the door to the bedroom, putting a wall in-between them.

"All the same, I'm concerned." Ryuuji put one hand to his own face, tracing invisible lines in a script he couldn't read, letting his imagination run wild. If this was a game, then he had become one of the players. His thoughts, oddly enough, went to the black-and-white chess board. The classic game. Was he a pawn, or something more? And how high were the stakes? "Just what have I gotten into?"

"Come with me," Rishid said, throwing one last glance behind him before opening the door to the hallway again. "It is a long story, and I don't want you to be here when he wakes."

They retreated to an alcove to the far side of the compound and in hushed tones Rishid told him much of what he knew and what he thought he knew. "…I have sworn to protect him, even if I must protect him from himself," Rishid said, his eyes downcast as if his role forbid him to look Ryuuji in the eye. As if they were far from equals. "It seems like he is degenerating, going on a downward spiral. But I believe that it gets darkest just before dawn, and there is a light approaching. We must first pass through the worst if we are to arrive there."

"What do you mean?" Ryuuji asked, mind racing with the tales of the harsh desert sands, of an escape and a childhood cut short; of conflicts and struggles and pieces of gold with the most peculiar designs.

"There are three Cards that are said to hold the key to the world's balance of power. Maximilian Pegasus, as the game's creator, holds those cards. The morning that we met you he was to give them to another. You interrupted the entire game. Now everything is moving faster than ever, and every day the part of Marik that craves the power of those cards grows and festers inside his heart."

"Is that it, then?" It took Ryuuji a few moments to find his voice. "There are three cards, and whoever holds all three at the end wins?"

"I believe there's more to it than that, but yes, that's the general idea."

"Then why do you want him to have all three? Isn't your side, you know… the evil one? The dark side?" Ryuuji fought the impulse to pace, shout, move his arms. He just couldn't stand being so motionless. To stay quiet and constrained… that, to him, was powerless.

"One of the cards is to go to our sister, who works at the Cairo Museum," he said, his voice hushed. It was the treason that he dare not speak aloud—the plot to overthrow the king had begun shortly after his own coronation. "The interception was planned. Ishizu, she… it is how things were meant to go. Now, everything has changed."

Ryuuji saw all of the probable paths that stretched out before him, some winding and others straight. It didn't seem right, or even easy, but all the same he chose his path. "No it hasn't. I'm still meeting with Pegasus in two days. Tell me what I must do, and I will do it." His throat had gone dry at the words. He was about to steal something of immeasurable value from his idol and give it to a man who wanted to turn the world to chaos, and he couldn't even provide himself with a reason for doing any of this. It was sheer madness.

"Here is what you must do…" Rishid leant over to whisper the plan to him, so closely that Ryuuji could smell the mix of sandalwood, beer, and jasmine rice that seemed to cling to him. His head nodded at Rishid's words but his mind was elsewhere; of a dying fire and two sets of footprints; of a man with ragged hair and his shadow. The light of the fire made it appear as if the shadow was bleeding into the man and the man was becoming shadow, and he could no longer tell where one began or ended.

.

**The third day Ryuuji woke with the sun and set to wandering the compound**. Rishid had told him that the Rare Hunters would be out of his way and he could leave freely—a true test of trust. He considered it briefly; following through with his original plan. Yet that sort of trust must be repaid, and although he was a gambling man he always settled his bets.

The wild card, as always, was Marik. He saw him outside the door, as if he was waiting for them. Ryuuji steeled himself… it was now or never. He smiled, and hoped for the best. "Hey Marik… do you trust me?"

"No."

"That's going to make this next part difficult." Ryuuji quickly leaned in and fought the urge to inhale deeply. "Today's the day I am to finally discover my dream. And you just might discover yours. Now, I need to borrow your motorcycle."

"Forget it." Marik frowned and crossed his arms.

Ryuuji grinned as the wind whipped his hair straight out behind him. Marik was a fast driver; he had to give him that. Marik was also the one with the helmet, but Ryuuji wasn't complaining if it meant that he could enjoy the ride without getting a face full of Marik's hair as part of the deal. He tightened his grip just to watch him squirm. He did nothing.

They raced alongside crumbling buildings with sleek storefronts; domed mosques with multiple minarets and several open squares already bustling with activity. Ryuuji pointed out the way to his hotel room and they parked the motorcycle right in front; heading down one tiled hallway then to one nondescript door with numbers stenciled right onto the wood.

"Make yourself at home," Ryuuji called as he shuffled through his over-packed suitcase. He needed his computer, notepad, and the rest. He looked at the wall mirror distastefully. He needed to shower.

He grabbed the clothes he needed and headed for the bathroom, emerging half-an-hour later to find Marik lounging on the bed. At first Ryuuji wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake yet he couldn't dismiss how strange it felt to watch him—someone, anyone who wasn't family—in his bed. He shrugged it away just like he smoothed away the wrinkles in his shirt. "Time to go," he called, just a little regretfully. He found himself turning away after that, grabbing his bag and leaving first, and again he couldn't quite learn why.

The Peninsula was still in its height of splendor, yet as Ryuuji left Marik alone in front of the hotel and ascended the building through a clear glass elevator that allowed Cairo to shrink underneath his feet, all he could think about was the way his heart pounded in his chest. The same assistant, whose name he learned was Crocketts, was there to escort him to the suite.

He was ushered through a rosewood entry and into a large adjoining sitting room, the plump cushioned chairs each a soft natural hue. It was that kind of understated elegance in which he could not fathom how it could be worth its price tag. Pegasus welcomed him with as much warmth as he could expect; an opened bottle of red wine between them. Each glass had already been filled. A tray of pastries and other sweets stood ceremony as a centerpiece just as much as for sustenance.

"Ryuuji-boy, how wonderful to see you!" Pegasus boomed and Ryuuji winced; attributing the unfortunate nickname to the eccentricities of the super-wealthy. "Do get a bite to eat before you begin. I look forward to your presentation." He reclined in his chair and raised a crystal glass to his lips.

The pitch he had rehearsed for weeks was delivered perfectly; each note was taken and each question preemptively addressed. He had fine-tuned each aspect of the game, and his simulation showed a game board unfurling with monsters, paths winding and straight.

"And the winner is determined by…?" Pegasus had let a lock of hair cover half of his face yet Ryuuji was certain he was closely scrutinizing each aspect of the game.

The winner of the game. The last aspect he had been working on. He had only recently decided upon it.

"…_of the twisting tendrils of darkness that lurk in men's hearts…."_

"_Is that it, then? There are three cards, and whoever holds all three at the end wins?"_

"Each player starts the game with three heart points. The monsters try to attack the opponent's hearts, and destroying all three means that you've won the game."

"Simple and effective. A grand strategy if I do say so." Pegasus clapped briefly at the end of the presentation. "It's got potential, just as you said. Make a prototype of the game and we'll play it in person. Then I'll know for sure. Can you meet me at Duelist Kingdom in one month's time? I'll fly you out at my expense—I'm sure you'll like it." He called in Crocketts to confirm the date on his calendar, mentioning a card tournament and another event briefly.

"Of course!" Ryuuji grinned. "I'm so honored. Thank you."

"There's still a long way to go—don't forget that." Pegasus smiled against the rim of his glass.

"May I excuse myself for a moment?" Ryuuji asked, making a show of looking embarrassed. "Your bathroom…?"

"Guest bathroom is to the right, off of the foyer that you passed." Ryuuji rose and as Crocketts moved to follow Pegasus held him back with a brief touch to the sleeve. "You are most excellent at what you do, but this is not a security matter."

He apologized as Ryuuji continued on, peeking into each room that he passed along the way. There were two guest bedrooms before he reached the bathroom. He quickly opened the last door of the hallway that opened into a glass-enclosed sunroom. From there he could see the entirety of the city, but his focus was directed to several glass cases of Duel Monsters cards lying on a glass-topped coffee table. He looked through each one, and then picked up a leather-bound album from the shelf beneath it. Each page was filled with cards, some common and others rare, and as the pages turned blank he began to lose hope until he arrived at the last page, which housed only two cards. He seized them from their clear plastic sheath and tucked them into his pockets, a trophy.

Ryuuji quickly ducked into the bathroom and ran the tap. His hands actually had begun to sweat. He returned to the sitting room to find Pegasus still seated, just finishing his drink. They confirmed their plans for the following month and shook hands on it, each grip sure and strong. Lastly, Pegasus raised his glass, an intuitive shimmer from behind his hair preceding his words. "A toast, from one member of the profession to another."

Wordlessly, he raised his glass to that.

They returned to the hotel without any prompting, and as Ryuuji changed from his business attire to something more suitable—he liked looking the part but hated wearing ties—he pulled the two shimmering cards from his pants pocket, wondrous at how something so fragile could matter so much. Marik didn't know.

He returned to the main room, finding Marik again lounging on the bed with his knees bent, staring up at the uneven ceiling. Deciding to forego reason, thought, rationality, or any of its brethren he approached the bed. "Move the hell over, I paid for this room," he mumbled, leaning back into the hotel's comforter.

"How did it go? Your meeting or whatever it was." Marik looked far more interested in the ceiling than in the question.

"I did it—everything's going to happen. Dungeon Dice Monsters is going to become a reality. My dream is going to come true." Ryuuji paused, shifting his weight so he could retrieve the shiny red and gold cards from his pocket. For a moment, he truly believed that all the power the cards possessed was his. He was invincible. "I was told this was something of a dream of yours, too." He held out the two cards, noticing how the wideness of Marik's eyes made him seem much younger. If he could name it better Ryuuji might say that he looked reverent; there was a stillness in the way that they each held a corner of the cards that made it seem as if the world had stopped. It might have, and he wouldn't have noticed.

Marik leaned forwards suddenly and kissed him, his lips rough against his own. Ryuuji couldn't think; all he could do was feel—the sensory overload, the sound of his heart hammering in his chest, the feeling of the cards sliding out of his grasp.

He drew back if only to breathe, incredulously ready to dive in again, before hearing faintly, "are you going to go back with me?"

"Yeah," he mumbled before closing the distance between them again.

It was just after they had returned to the Rare Hunters hideout that Ryuuji decided to throw all caution to the wind. Rishid had warned him of the response of his earlier transgression, but he had a few things that he didn't want to be left unsaid. If they were going to part ways; if he was going to leave the game, then he was going to make his last moves count.

"Marik," Ryuuji called as Marik reached up to remove his helmet, "Remember what I said about trust. Hear me out…." He took a deep breath and then another for good measure. "From our conversation several nights ago I learned something quite fascinating; I'm sure you know it so I'll just refresh your memory. You told me all about the origins of Duel Monsters and how it started in Egypt, but I didn't know that it came to prominence under one particular _pharaoh_. Now I'm not sure it had a name, this _pharaoh_, but I'm certain his …"

As he pulled the helmet off his hair seemed charged; his entire bearing shifted. In a moment he was on Ryuuji, the golden metal of the Rod held tight under his chin. "He tolerates you, but don't believe that I won't kill you right now." He held the Item closer to emphasize his point. "You know far too much.

"You owe me, big time—" Ryuuji choked out, pushing against him. "Slifer… the Winged Dragon… face it, you're in my debt. Besides, he won't let you hurt me—"

"I am in control!"

"You're a part of him, and you're stuck with me so get used to it." Ryuuji stumbled backwards and away from him, rubbing his neck. "I want to know all of him, and you're part of the package deal. Maybe for now, but not always…"

He laughed tonelessly. "You're challenging me? I have all of the power in the world. I can raise armies or start wars with a single jolt in the right direction. I can control your every move. What do you think? Are you under my control right now?"

"I won't fall for your mind tricks!" Ryuuji shouted, swiping at the air as if to sever an invisible tie between them.

In response he just laughed, taking a moment in-between to lick his lips. "Do you want to know what _he_ thinks? He thinks it was all a ruse—that you've been under my control from the start. That everything that he feels is only a figment of his imagination. Not real."

"I'm telling you, it was real!" Ryuuji stopped mere inches from him, his eyes pleading and desperate. "I'm not being controlled!"

"He doesn't believe you," he said, licking his lips again. "It was all a trick to get the God Cards for myself."

"You're lying!" Ryuuji shouted. He didn't care if he woke the whole damned complex—and he wouldn't. He knew that they were all controlled. Ryuuji saw nothing but darkness in his eyes—no hint of Marik there. He took his hand within his own, committing the swirls of fingerprint to memory, but still there was no reaction from him. He kissed him, hard—a second time, a third time—nothing. He stepped back, dazed, defeated. "You're killing him," Ryuuji said. "You're poison."

"There can only be hate," he said, as if it were his decree. "A house of hate has no room for anything else to fill it." The Millennium Rod glowed brightly and despite how he struggled Ryuuji closed his eyes. "If I'm a poison then I've infected you." He wore his twisted grin triumphantly as Ryuuji came towards him. He could hear the cries of his original as he felt a mockery of Ryuuji's tender touch. He allowed himself to lean into it for a moment, only one. Marik had strayed too far from his path; he had allowed the Rare Hunters to become something different than he had originally planned. He would shape the world by winning a game; less brutal than he had intended but still satisfying. Most satisfying…especially in claiming the smaller pieces.

He would have Marik hate, not love—that hate could be channeled to its rightful place. He would charter a boat; in a month's time he would be in Domino and the game would be taken to the next level. He would be victorious; he was the king and the king had no equals. It was something Marik had yet to understand.

He gave his pawn two final orders: _go_ _home_. _Forget_. He watched with some measure of pride as he dutifully obeyed.

They always did.

.

**The End.**

.**  
**

_Black King_ is in reference to the chess piece and Dark Marik's role within the larger framework of YGO. Ties in nicely with the idea that being at the top of the pyramid implies that one is alone. Marik I like to think as being redeemed through the course of the series, so I actually favor him as the white king every much as any YGO-series hero. _Thank you_ for reading and _please _review, I value and treasure each one.


	9. The Odyssey

This story is set just after the events of a previous story of mine titled _Where do you go when you're gone?_ This piece stands on its own, but allow me to summarize for those who haven't read it: Yugi broke up with Kaiba because they couldn't communicate. This was written for Round Eleven of the _incomparable_ Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Spearshipping: Ryouta Kajiki (Mako Tsunami) x Yugi Moto. I'm using the Japanese name here—Ryouta as opposed to Mako—but I would greatly appreciate a small moment of contemplative silence for everyone affected by the recent tsunami in Japan. It's been on my mind as I drafted this piece, which takes place mostly on open water.

I depart from canon on one very recognizable instance, but I do hope its sufficiently explained.

**.**

**The Odyssey**

**.**

_I wish I could care again, reach out and share again  
and mend what's been broken and let it run free.  
The older I get it seems  
the more wishing takes the place of dreams.  
If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets in the sea._

_-Eric Bogle_

**.**

Yugi had gone straight to the Game Shop, to the one place he had always truly felt at peace. It wasn't helping. His heart was still pounding, racing, galloping, and the tears that were simmering at his eyes were threatening to spill over. He opened the door quietly to thwart the bell that was affixed to its handle and slipped into the storage room. Here, he wouldn't be disturbed.

He looked at the shelves of cards around him, of the boxes that held equipment for the tabletop platform, and felt his heart breaking all over again. He was looking into the past; a past that, according to him, he should just remember fondly and then move along from. Yet, he felt his arms reaching out to gather it all into himself, to hold on tightly and never let go. It was his life: his entire reason for being, the reason that they all were here, happy and whole—his heart clenched again; maybe not all of them, but still. Seto was a fool to think otherwise.

He was a fool as well to think things wouldn't end up the way they had. Yugi had told himself otherwise, that there was no way in hell he was going to change The Seto Kaiba, trademarked stubborn bastard, but a part of him… he wanted to. God, it had been perfect. Like a fairytale. Now, everything was crumbling down around him and neither of them was willing to pick up the pieces. Neither of them would give an inch.

He took up his old room again, grateful, that his family didn't ask too many questions. He didn't really have that many answers.

**…**

That was when he started to walk. In the spare afternoons and evenings when he couldn't bear it he would go around to all the old places or, like a tourist, discover new ones. He wanted to feel like a stranger to a place, he wanted to start new.

No matter where he went, whenever he looked to the sky, he could never escape that particular landmark, that symbol in the middle of the Domino skyline. Sometimes, despite being so far away he even felt like he couldn't escape its shadow.

**…**

Yugi had just finished filing the taxes for the Game Shop—in person and on paper as much as necessity allowed, he noted to himself with a touch of pride, eyes blinking back against the harsh midday sun. "You look lost," he heard someone say, maybe from his left. "Either lost, or confused. Anyway, it's good to see you."

He turned, at first unsure if anyone was even talking to him or he had finally broken the last threads of his sanity and was beginning to hear voices.

"Ryouta?" Of course it was him, who else would forego even an introduction, much less a salutation, after all these years. "Wow, what are you doing here?" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the green-and-black awning framing the store behind him.

"Filling out the insurance on my new boat." Ryouta walked closer to him, lips parting in the huge grin that Yugi remembered. "I finally saved up enough money to afford one, and she's beautiful! Once I'm done with a few last-minute things I'll be off. It's all finally happening, Yugi. It's all coming together at last."

"Well, I'm happy for you," Yugi said, failing to completely mask his sarcasm at seeing all his old friend's dreams finally coming true. He'd gladly sign the registry when he and his boat got married and maybe he'd even buy them a gift—he envisioned a red buoy with three stenciled letters: SOS.

"Yugi! That reminds me," he continued, apparently still immune to sarcasm, "does your Game Store still buy back Duel Monster's Cards?"

"Well, it's not really my shop and besides, we don't really do that anymore…" Yugi failed to add the multiple financial reasons why, "…but I suppose we could make an exception. But why would you want to sell your cards back?"

"I've retired from the dueling circuit, now that I've got my boat," he said, leaning inwards, mock-whispering as if what he had to say next was a secret. "But I only want to sell back some of the cards. I want to keep my favorites, for old-time's sake—they're probably the weakest cards in my deck but they're my favorites all the same, right?"

For that, more than anything, Yugi admired him. "Sure! You can come by the Game Shop anytime—even today, if you're not doing anything."

"Will do, then." Ryouta folded his arms and looked up to the cloudless sky. "All I've got is time."

**…**

Feeling foolish, Yugi straightened the display shelves and switched the front trash can for the empty one behind the counter. True to his word, Ryouta came by as the afternoon slipped into evening, pulling a few dozen cards from his pocket and spreading them out on the table in a smooth, practiced motion. "You know, you don't have to worry about paying for them or anything," he said, shuffling his feet on the worn floor tiles. "Since that's not really your policy. I'll just donate them."

"Are you sure?" Although he didn't doubt Ryouta's sincerity, charity always made him uncomfortable. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Tell you what," Ryouta said, eyes gleaming as he laced his fingers together on the countertop. "Can you take off for a few weeks? You just looked a little down when I saw you earlier, and I thought a change of scenery would do you good. The ocean is always the most soothing place for me. Would you like to come sailing with me? I sure could use a reliable first mate."

"I…um…" Despite how his mind whirled, his fingers itched to pick up those cards. Could he really do it? Forget everything on the ocean, and let everything else forget him?

"You can sleep on it—don't give me an answer now, or I'll think it wasn't the right one." Ryouta gathered up the cards into a single stack and then slid it over to Yugi. "I'll be leaving in two days. If you want to come, then be ready early the morning after next. I'll be right outside the store." He turned around and left Yugi alone in the shop. Once the bell on the door stopped ringing, he stood there, in the quiet, and wondered just what he was supposed to do. He went for the phone first. He had to call Anzu.

**…**

That morning, Ryouta Kajiki waited outside the Kame Game Shop. The sun had only just risen and he had gotten out of his truck, an ancient model with peeling blue paint. The truck bed was stocked with supplies, but he'd cleared a space in the back for Yugi's things. He waited there patiently, hopefully.

He was rewarded as the door opened—the bell ringing faintly through the sounds of the world waking up—and Yugi appeared. He had a large duffel bag under one arm and a backpack supported by strong shoulders, and the way he smiled sheepishly at him struck Ryouta with the thought that it seemed an awful lot like they were spiriting away to some secret adventure.

The illusion shattered just as the dew broke under their footsteps. The taillights of their car cut through the morning as they left the shop behind.

**…**

They dropped anchor that night close to shore, and Yugi left his cabin just as streaks of red were beginning to chase the sun down across the horizon. "Red sky at night, sailor's delight," Ryouta half-sang, half-spoke. "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning." He had turned slightly in his chair at the sound of Yugi approaching, wearing a dark gray jacket to help shield against the wind.

"Where to, captain?" Yugi joked.

"We'll be retracing a route that I sailed once," Ryouta replied, looking out across the endless swath of blue.

"Only once?" Yugi paused, and Ryouta knew what he was thinking, currents and seasons and the best fishing spots, but he shook his head just enough. How could he even begin to explain to him about their journey—

_Salt stung his eyes, he could barely see through the rolling waves and driving rain. He coughed against it as it caught in his mouth and nose and he spat it out as the rain lashed his face. He felt an odd burning in his hands as well, and looked down to see the red welts from where the rope had burned him. He wasn't sure if it was from holding on or trying to get free. What he did know, was that he was completely alone. _

-or of the way their boat had finally washed ashore two days later, him exhausted and dehydrated, salt tears at his eyes from the terrible knowledge that he had searched in vain, traced the sea and shouted his name a thousand times until he was hoarse, and for nothing. Who was he to tell that story? Even now, surrounded by the source of so much joy and so much sorrow, he couldn't even begin to describe how he felt. So how could he share that with someone else?

He chanced a look over at Yugi and at once the tight muscles in his shoulders relaxed. Always so understanding. Ryouta supposed he might not be as understood, just like himself.

**…**

"We're going back to your hometown?" Yugi asked, looking up from the map whose edges curled away from him with each capricious gust of wind as their boat sailed over the water.

"Yeah!" Ryouta shouted. He adjusted the wheel slightly to the left. "To go down any path you've got to get to the starting point, right?" He laughed as Yugi tried to hold down the map with his arms. "Besides, we can stock up on any extra supplies, like water."

"And then you'll let me steer, right?"

"Steer my new boat? I'll give you five minutes before it founders on the rocks."

**…**

It was later that evening, after they had eaten, when Yugi dared to ask the question, quietly, hesitantly, "Can you tell me about him? Your father, I mean."

Ryouta looked up at him sharply but Yugi shrugged it off. "I was listening, back at Duelist Kingdom. …If you don't want to, then that's fine." He contented himself with staring out at the inky blackness of the water, piecing together his reflection in the moonless night.

"You know what he once told me? He said that men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it isn't fish they're after. It was a passion for him, but I knew he'd set it down in an instant for me. That's the sort of fisherman I want to be." There was pride there, admiration and something Yugi couldn't name.

"I only see my dad several times a year. It's less now than it used to be, what with the recession and the empty nest—" Yugi had to catch himself; remind himself that he was no longer the sparrow that flew away but rather the one that flew back, ashamed for it.

"If you could wish it, would you wish to see him more? To have him being there?" Ryouta's voice was hushed, and in it Yugi could see the faint shape of a triangle. He remembered his own wish—strange that he had never thought to question it before.

"Wishes aren't dreams," he said softly, and left Ryouta alone with his thoughts. It was late, and he needed rest.

**…**

Yugi would toss and turn in the small bunk, missing the feeling of weight on the other side of the mattress. The sound of exhalations, deep and even, matching his own. He wanted to fall asleep in someone's arms. He couldn't sleep. He wanted—

He couldn't bring himself to say it.

**…**

The next day Yugi treaded cautiously around him, and when Ryouta offhandedly asked, "so, are you seeing anyone? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?" he replied back with a calm and cursory no. Afterwards, he was proud of how even he kept his voice but surprised at how often his eyes would drift across to him when they were sailing. The waves were cresting higher with each day but Yugi barely noticed, accustomed to the regular way the boat swayed with each wave.

Later he walked in to see Ryouta fiddling with the crank-powered portable radio, but he quickly switched it off, favoring him with a brilliant smile. "I think we're almost there," he said, nudging the wheel slightly. "Do you want to take the wheel for a minute?"

"You trust me with this" Yugi was surprised. He could see how devoted Ryouta was to the ship.

"Well, there are no rocks in sight so I think it'll be okay." He laughed and stepped back a little, making room for Yugi to stand on the small platform. Yugi took his place, amazed at how he could feel the ship moving under his feet so clearly. Looking at the navigation, the buttons and switches and even just looking out to the sea, it was like a secret he was privileged to hear.

He lined up his fingers with where he had seen Ryouta place his before and gently tilted the wheel to the right. The ship pitched suddenly to one side.

"Gentle! Easy does it." To Yugi, it felt like Ryouta's lips were inches from his ear. His fingers stilled as Ryouta's hands rested just above his, only barely touching. If his goal was to get Yugi to relax, he was completely off base. Every nerve, every fiber of his being felt alive, and he was only too conscious of the way his hair just brushed against Ryouta's shoulders, his chin, his face.

Barely any contact, but never enough. It was maddening.

Yugi leaned back just barely, hoping for just the slightest touch more, but he lost his balance as the boat drifted up and down in the waves. His hand pulled the wheel again to the right, then quickly back up again to compensate. He could just scarcely feel the rumble of Ryouta's chest as he laughed.

"Don't trust your senses, what you can touch," he said, his hands coming to rest more firmly upon Yugi's own. "Just feel."

Yugi figured his inability to steer the boat was most likely due to an overload of feeling as opposed to too much—he was acutely aware of every detail, from the polished wood of the wheel to the rough calluses on Ryouta's fingers.

All of a sudden everything meshed together just as the boat crested the next wave; he gently nudged the wheel, only barely moving it to align the boat with the next oncoming wave. Down and up, and down, and back up again. The boat swayed with each motion as it cut through the water.

Starting with his feet and traveling up his body, Yugi found himself almost swaying with the slight motions of the boat, moving with it as one. He successfully navigated another wave, then the next.

"I think you've got it," Mako said, still keeping just the minimum distance away from him. Yet with each successive wave, each time the boat pitched down as it neared a trough he moved the tiniest bit closer.

Up, then down. Closer…

At last, just as they were at the top of the wave he pressed his lips to the side of Yugi's neck, only the slightest kiss. Once more at the next wave. "Is this alright?" he murmured.

Yugi could only nod, but that was all it took. Ryouta quickly pressed a few buttons to ground the ignition, keeping the boat rocking gently over the waves but no longer powering through them. Yugi turned around and kissed him, one hand at the frayed neckline of his shirt and the other gently at his cheek. Yugi closed his eyes, for a moment letting the rocking of the boat lull him away from that moment, away before he had to open his eyes and be confronted with one thing when, unseeing, he could choose to believe both.

**…**

Yugi woke in his own bed the next morning to the sharp and sudden pitching of the boat. Bleary-eyed, he could barely make out the hands on his watch but as the boat yawed once more, he decided to go above the deck and see what all the trouble was about.

He was greeted with the sight of churning waves and a red sky, softening pink at the edges of the horizon. Red sky at morning… he turned on the spot to where Ryouta was staring intently out to sea.

"Are we in a storm?"

"Just because the seas are rough doesn't mean that it's a storm." Ryouta adjusted the wheel once, and then consulted with a reading displayed on a small screen built into the dashboard.

"But we are, aren't we? The radio… you were checking the weather. Ryouta, is this dangerous?" Yugi took hold of a railing as the boat rocked again.

"Less dangerous than being docked in port, if you'd believe it," he replied. "But it doesn't matter anymore. We're here. This is it, Yugi."

The wind was picking up and Yugi could feel the spray in the air, carried along by the wind. "This is crazy! You've tried everything else, and so now you have to do this? What makes you think it's even going to work?"

Ryouta moved to press another button, and when his hand slid down the steering wheel Yugi understood. "Because our rudder just broke. That's what probably just woke you up." He pressed the button again, thrusting power to keep the boat in time with the waves. "This is as close to that day that I've ever seen. We're going to see just where he would have gone. Where the waters will take us."

"First, we have to stay in one piece!" Yugi clutched to the railing as the boat took another wave.

"Just you wait," Ryouta said, his eyes constantly scanning the dark, churning water. "We'll find something."

That something appeared on the horizon first as a dark smudge against the sea and sky. They drifted closer, caught in the pull of the water, as the large tower loomed into view.

"I don't believe it." Yugi's mouth had gone dry. He had seen this place before. He had been there before.

Ryouta was leaning over the wheel, squinting at the island through the storm. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to move, to jump into action, and he felt like his skin was the only thing containing him from leaping overboard and swimming to the island himself. "There's letters on the building," he murmured to himself, squinting to make them out.

Yugi waited as they approached, seeing the familiar structure come closer into view.

"K…C… this is a Kaiba Corporation tower?" Ryouta's voice was thick with disbelief. He glanced backwards in the direction they had come. The water had brought them here? "Why would KC have buildings out here?"

"It's a relic from their days as a munitions manufacturing company," Yugi said, his voice barely carrying over the sounds of the storm. "The tower is a newer edition, for the Battle City Tournament finals." He didn't want to add the final blow. "I've been here before."

Ryouta skillfully navigated the boat towards the island, then used the thrust to maneuver them into the large shell that their transport had been stationed in for the tournament. When he turned to Yugi, his expression was unreadable. "Come on," he said, shrugging into a jacket, "Let's have a look around."

They opened every door and searched every room of the hangar, until Ryouta spotted a cinderblock building adjoining the main one. Inside was paper—stacks of it; receipts and maps and professionally-drawn schematics, and several tall bookcases stacked with ledgers. Hastily he began pulling them out and flipping through each written-upon page. He was looking for a particular time. He turned each page, his finger tracing the time-worn words.

**…**

_They pulled him out of the water, gasping and fighting to breathe. His clothing was soaked and torn from the storm, and they quickly ushered him inside into one of the more public rooms on the carrier, motioning for them each to take a seat at opposite ends of a table. It wouldn't do even for him to see the boxes stacked in rows on the deck._

_"It's lucky we found you," the captain said, ordering his men to bring him warm clothing and coffee. "What's your name?"_

_"Kajiki," he said, eyes weary and haunted from the storm. He accepted the steaming drink gladly, clutching it to his chest._

_"What were you doing out in the storm? We don't get too much traffic around here."_

_"It was a fishing trip. My son and I… but the seas that had started out so calmly turned against us." He coughed to clear his throat and sipped at the coffee, steam rising in curls from the mug._

_"And your son…?" He had to ask. They couldn't afford any unaccounted witnesses._

_"He was safe. His boat should make it through the storm," Kajiki was shivering._

_The captain stood up and walked over to another uniformed man. "Make sure you have all sets of eyes watching the seas for his son. Safety is our number-one priority, understood?"_

_The man saluted, turned smartly on his heel, and quickly left the room, leaving the two alone._

_"Well, thank you, whoever you are, for saving my life." He wearily raised the mug to his lips again. It seemed to be getting heavier with each sip, but he needed the warmth._

_The captain smiled behind his graying mustache but his eyes concealed a much harder glint to them. "Thank Kaiba Corporation for your new lease on life," the man said. His new lease, however, would be regrettably short._

_"Kaiba Corp…? You mean the weapons dealer?" A frown crossed his face. He didn't approve. "Why would a weapons cargo ship be out here in the middle of a storm, unless…?" In an instant, he understood. His eyes cleared for one more minute, before the desire to sleep overtook him. When he was thrown into the sea he fought against it, but in a conflict between men he simply accepted, and when he couldn't keep his head upright any longer, he laid it down upon the small wooden table._

**…**

Ryouta had sunk to the floor as he read the captain's log, but his hands gripped the sides of the book fiercely, his knuckles turning white from the effort. "That bastard Kaiba," he bit out, his voice low and dangerous. "I am going to kill him. The ocean can have him." He stood up suddenly, eyes scanning over each shelf. How many others had there been? Just how far had KC gone to make and deliver its black-book products?

He couldn't stand to be there any more. The weight of it all was too much. Any more pressure and he thought he would explode from it all. "We're leaving. Now." He left, and Yugi ran after him.

He set a course straight for Domino and kept his hand pressed firmly on the thrust. They skimmed over the waves and crashed headlong into others, rolling with each one. "That monster…"

Yugi looked up at him suddenly, remembering one of the reasons he had first told Kaiba yes all those months ago. After the tournament he had fully intended to blow up the entire island, and Yugi had accidentally walked into the room where he was standing before a box filled with explosives, ready to be primed and detonated.

"They're his product," Seto had said. "In order to destroy this I would have to use his own materials." He cursed, throwing the lid of one of the boxes across the room. He was reaching for one of the bricks but his hands stopped just inches of the box. They curled back, as if disgusted of the very thought. Without another word he turned and left, his coat swishing against the cement ground of the room.

"Gozaburo Kaiba is dead," Yugi began, turning to Ryouta in a desperate attempt to calm him down. "You know that Seto Kaiba changed everything about the company when he took over. He wouldn't have anything to do with that past-nothing!"

"Why are you defending him?" Yugi flinched at the coldness in his voice. "What has Kaiba ever done for you?"

Yugi straightened up, finding his voice as they started to see the faintest lights of the city through the clouds and the storm. "A hell of a lot, actually. And you'd know that if you'd just listen! You're blinded by rage-"

Ryouta had grabbed his arm, pulling him tightly towards him. "So you're defending him? How could you! Kaiba is a monster-don't try and stop me from taking my revenge."

Once they approached the marina he navigated the buoys and the other boats, docking hastily before heading for the exit, his arm still firmly tightened around Yugi's. "You're coming with me," he said, his long strides causing Yugi to practically job to keep up. "I'm going to expose him for what he truly is."

The storm had cut power to several pockets of the city but the lights of the KC tower were like a magnet, pulling them in. The receptionist saw Yugi, and immediately waved them in, despite an odd look at Ryouta and at their waterlogged hair and clothing.

Ryouta didn't let it escape his notice. When they were in the elevator, he turned to him, his shoes squelching with water on the shiny polished surface. "Just what was that all about? She looked like she recognized you." It was an accusation.

Yugi was just as surprised as Ryouta-he figured that Kaiba would have a sign posted, barring him from the premises. "We... used to date. He was my ex-" He stopped, because Ryouta had begun to laugh; dark, mirthless laughs that made Yugi shrink away towards the elevator door. They would open in a minute and he would dash out of there, this was insane-

Seto Kaiba was waiting for them in the office lobby. "I was expecting a lot of things, but frankly this was not one of them," he began, his voice measured and clipped.

Ryouta was already moving forwards, his arm cocked back into a fist. "Kaiba you murderer!" He swung, and Seto easily blocked the hit and parried with one of his own, throwing him down to the patterned rug.

"Yugi, if your friends keep attempting to assault me I may be forced to press charges," he said, dusting his hands as if the work was child's play. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Look, this is all a misunder-"

"Misunderstanding?" Seto growled, his voice deep in his throat. "No, it isn't. In fact, it's all very simple. I just want to know what the hell is going on. You look like you've just gone swimming."

Yugi looked down at his clothes-he hadn't even noticed it. "We were at KC Island, and..."

"Is it true?" Ryouta had staggered to his feet, looking ready for another round. "Did you kill my father?"

"What are you talking about?" Seto kept his eyes moving back and forth between them.

Ryouta pulled a slim bound book from his jacket pocket and flipped open the pages. The paper was soaked through and torn in some places, faint pencil markings barely visible, ink entries completely obscured. "No," he whispered, going through the entire book. "No, it's gone..." In a fit of rage, he threw the book at Seto, hitting his shoulder and creasing his navy dress shirt.

Yugi jumped between them, holding his hands out to either side. "Seto, we think Gozaburo was illegally trafficking something out of that island, and when Ryouta's father was lost at sea they found him and..."

"-and you killed him, you bastard!" Ryouta took another swipe at him, barely held back by Yugi.

"What were you doing going off with him in the middle of this storm? I was informed that you had left the city and no one had heard from you since-"

"So now you're monitoring my every move?"

"No." He gritted out through tightly pursed lips, as if the words alone were as much of an arduous chore as the action. "Mokuba called Mazaki."

Yugi sighed, running a hand through his hair and shaking out some of the water that still clung to its strands. "Why go to all the trouble? I don't understand."

He knew well the look that Seto was giving him then. He had seen it before. Seto Kaiba was staring at him as if he were the biggest idiot he had ever met. "Isn't it obvious?"

For a moment, neither of them moved. Seto turned to Ryouta, who was staring at Yugi in a way he didn't quite appreciate. "If you're looking for revenge, then you really should be thanking me. It's done with-you need to accept that they're both dead and move on. If you want compensation, I can provide that. Tell me what you want-money? A more weather-hardy vessel?"

Ryouta slowly exhaled, looking at the man that he still very much hated. But he had seen the news, seen the eyewitness testimonies of Gozaburo's jump. What he had been chasing for most of his life had ended in the central office of the most powerful man in Domino. He wondered it if were one of the windows in that very room. "I want nothing more than to get out of here." Suddenly he ached for the ocean. He wanted nothing more than to fish. His father had said that many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it isn't fish they are after. He didn't want anything Kaiba could give him.

Once he had disappeared behind the gold-hued elevator doors Kaiba turned to Yugi. "You've probably already caught a cold," he said disdainfully, eyeing the damp trail his shoes made on the carpet. Softer, he added, "are you coming back?"

Yugi looked firmly back at him. "No."

"You're not serious." Of course he was disbelieving. He looked out to the descending elevator, anger in his eyes.

"Seto, I need to make sure he's okay. Ryouta just learned that his father was killed just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I only want to talk to him. And then, after..." He allowed himself to smile a little, then. "After that, we'll talk. I didn't mean no, just more like... not yet."

Seto tugged on his shirt, trying to get the creases out. "He's fortunate that I'm not pressing charges against him, then." He looked back, and Yugi wanted so badly to run to him then, his heart ached for it, but he couldn't. Not until he had sorted everything out with Ryouta. He caught Seto's eyes one last time, as if each of them were trying to memorize the others' face, and then he left.

If he hurried, he'd catch up to Ryouta before he got outside.

**.**

**The End**

**.**

Author's Note:

The line: "Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after" is actually a quote by Thoreau. I really like it, and thought it captured the spirit of the piece well. I just love Ryouta/Mako to pieces; his passion for life and for what he is living for are really creatively inspiring. I do hope you read Where do you go when you're gone? if you haven't, and if you would like to share any knowledge about boats please pass it along; I would greatly appreciate it. I prefer my watercraft on the smaller side, but I just can't see them off to KC Island in a skidoo or a zodiac.

_Thank you_ for reading and _please _review, I value and treasure each one.


	10. Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground

Written for Round Fifteen of the wonderful and/or crazy (I'm more inclined to think _crazy_ at this point!) Ryou VeRua's Yu Gi Oh Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Trackshipping: Yami BakuraxShadi. Also contains hints of Glassshipping: TKBxShadi, and Tendershipping: RyouxDark Bakura. Story begins in Season One, more precisely in episode 40, and progresses onwards. I'm going back to my roots on this one, it seems.

* * *

.

Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground

.

.

_Where now? Who now? When now? Unquestioning. I, say I. Unbelieving. Questions, hypotheses, call them that. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on. _

_(Can it be that one day, off it goes on, that one day I simply stayed in, in where, instead of going out, in the old way, out to spend a day and night as far away as possible, it wasn't far. Perhaps that is how it began. You think you are simply resting, the better to act when the time comes, or for no reason, and you soon find yourself powerless ever to do anything again. No matter how it happened. It, say it, not knowing what…)_

…_I shall not be alone, in the beginning. I am of course alone. Alone. That is soon said. Things have to be soon said. And how can one be sure, in such darkness?_

—_The Unnamable, Samuel Beckett_

.

.

Shadi liked to live in moments, after living for so long it was the only way he could stay relatively sane. They were bright flashes in the night, like a candle flickering in the instant before it was snuffed out. A string of moments he held close to him. Those were where he _lived_.

This moment was bound up in bright colorful wrapping, a lively pattern on the walls and the portrait of a woman on the one closest to him. Sunlight arced through open windows. Pegasus had always enjoyed the finer things in life.

He wasn't here for him. His true objective was gone—he had missed the thief by a matter of minutes. It was as if he had simply blended back in to the shadows that he was borne from. Perhaps he was watching him then. Shadi felt _his_ eyes burning into him; the familiar prickling at his neck and on his arms that clouded his mind, warping the shimmer of the walls into a furious golden haze. In the echoes of his mind he swore he could hear his dark laughter, tossed out so carelessly yet still like a challenge.

* * *

Shadi ghosted through the halls of the blimp that hovered so precariously in Domino's night sky. His Millennium Key allowed him to vanish from sight at will, yet he had tipped his hand to save those two young men. He had begun on the rooftop deck; perhaps his prey was enjoying how they seemed to float among the stars.

No, he lay silent and slumbering in a darkened room. Shadi noticed the steady hum of monitors alongside the rise and fall of his chest, his white hair spread out in tangles on his pillow and across his forehead. This man was the source of all his trouble. Yet, he looked so peaceful in slumber, much like a child.

Could someone like this truly bring the world to ruin—?

Shadi held the key firmly in his hands. It wasn't heavy—at least, not in the physical sense. Inch by inch, half-expecting him to wake at the intrusion, Shadi guided the key towards the sleeping man's forehead.

He was in a corridor made entirely of stone that stretched on before him as far as he could see. He briefly touched the wall as he began to walk; the stones were stacked tightly without mortar and slightly cold to the touch.

"You know, it's really more polite to knock before entering." He approached Shadi slowly, purposefully. "You never know what you might find on the other side."

"Then I'll count on your hospitality…?"

"Bakura," he said simply, stopping several feet away from him, hands disappearing into his pockets. "At your service," he added, like an afterthought, laughing at his own private joke.

"Then you are the thief that is now in possession of the Millennium Eye?" Shadi said, eyeing him levelly. _He_ was in control of this interrogation, not Bakura. Usually that was all it took to secure a hasty response, but Bakura was anything if unobliging.

"You don't quite understand how things work here, do you?" In an instant the shadows on the wall shifted with his movement and Bakura was beside him. "This is my world that you've entered—I can't have you stopping what progress I've made!" He scoffed, turning to lean against one wall. "You don't have anything that I'm interested in, this is worthless—"

Shadi reached inside the folds of his cloak, pulling the Millennium Key out with an oddly mocking smile. "It's not trespassing if I have a key."

Just for that, Bakura granted him the honor of his full attention. "And here I was, thinking you a ghost, something less than human. You're stiff, automated, and I'd wager a small fortune that that's the first joke you've made in this lifetime, but you've got to learn that if you deal with the devil you have to play his game."

Shadi's grip on the key tightened, and he couldn't help gritting his teeth. This man was half-wild within the confines of his own mind, yet he would not be made a fool! "Do you talk to ghosts, Bakura?"

"My host does," he said, the words slipping out involuntarily and with irritation. "But that is another matter. _Now_ you have something with which to bargain." Bakura eyed the key hungrily; in his eyes it was already his own. "I'm in the mood for a Shadow Game."

"I'm not a betting man," Shadi said, impassively scouring the corridor. During their discussion the shadows on the walls had changed, taking on a striped façade. He was certain that if he approached one of the bars he would find it to be solid.

"You're not even a man," he shot back, mouth curving back at the edges into an arrogant smirk. "You're a mere shell of a man—you don't live but for moment to moment. You came here to reason with me—but you can't persuade darkness!"

His next reply was softer still. "It really was foolish of you to come here. I take what I want—of course, I can also _be_ persuasive. God, I would lock you up in one of these cells, but then I'd have to look at you." The bands of light and shadow were even more concrete now; hollows of space between the bars forming rows of cells. Shadi didn't even begin to count their number.

"There are things in this world that I trust beyond influence and chance." Shadi raised the key, ready to leave this nightmare behind him, when a gentle whisper broke the silence.

"Bakura?"

A wraith of a boy threaded his hands through the bars, outstretched towards him. With a knowing smirk Bakura walked over, his hands moving to his arms, chest… this boy, the destined owner of the Millennium Ring, said nothing as Bakura closed the space between them.

The last thing that Shadi saw before he vanished was Bakura's eyes, continuing to watch him as he laid his palm possessively on his host's chest, watching Shadi, daring him to do anything. He knew he wouldn't. He never did.

* * *

Shadi hardly dreamt, yet since that first encounter on the blimp he had begun to have the oddest dreams. The visions had continued to plague him while awake, and more than once he had considered removing the enchantment of the key and unveiling himself for the world just to ask anyone if they saw the same things he had. Explaining the visions to others was not nearly the same as experiencing them.

This most recent one involved Bakura—he shook his head to clear his thoughts, for they all involved Bakura—yet he was different, with darker skin and hair that looked matted and dirty. The red cloak he wore practically hung off his shoulders.

This man wasn't as dark and deep as Bakura, yet he still bore with him a sadness that was just bleeding into anger. "You made a vow," he said, and his voice was a distant echo, "a vow of millennia. What will become of the world if you fail? What will become of yourself?"

He had expected his world to end in fire but instead he was consumed in darkness, like a candle spluttering out, wisps of steam curling above it the only reminder that there had ever been a flame.

* * *

A bond is a curious thing, and like most things that are important beyond measure, it came suddenly and without warning. Shadi was not watching the duel, for he thought he knew the outcome, and in a rush not unlike a storm he was pulled into it.

It was a courtyard; high walls on either side of them blocked out the sands he somehow knew lay behind. Sparse vegetation grew along the walls and around the stone benches and columns that ran in a straight line bisecting the space. A row of buildings adjoined the courtyard.

"This is my mind," Shadi murmured, curiously reaching out to touch the elaborately sculpted columns, their paint colors still bright despite the age of the relic. His mind had been wholly his own up until that moment. "If I'm here…"

He heard a shout from behind him and turned to see Bakura entering the courtyard, brushing sand from his hair. It spilled out from the creases of his clothing and the cuffs of his pants. For a moment time stopped for Shadi, this whole scene had played out before for them both. Sand clinging to dirt-streaked hair, a glimpse of red on the horizon. It was too familiar, strangely so.

"I wasn't sure I'd end up here," Bakura said while surveying the courtyard, scuffing the sandstone floors with his shoes. "But the shadow realm, that's boring. This, this is something relatively new at least." Bakura looked over his shoulder at him, a shadow of a smirk crossing his face. "I put a small part of my soul inside the Millennium Key. Duel insurance, if you will."

"Are you admitting that you lost a duel?" Trying his best to ignore this not-so-welcome addition to his courtyard, Shadi continued to explore, letting his feet take him in a slow circle around the space, ending at the tall arched door to the building beyond. The shade felt cooler than everything else.

He heard the echoes of laughter and a muttered we've-been-over-this-you-can't-kill-your-vessel, then Bakura was beside him. "Did you think about what I said?"

Shadi didn't even acknowledge his comment, already entering the main area of the low-slung building. "Fine, then. At least, think about what I didn't say?" Bakura smirked and followed him in. "Do you even know what you're looking for?"

"I will when I find it."

"Will you?"

* * *

The building was small from an outsider's perspective, yet Shadi threaded his way around various displays of artifacts before arriving at a staircase set into a hidden door along a far wall, one of a long row of panels that decorated the entire room. It seemed that the space stretched far underground-they descended a flight of stairs and passed through another corridor.

"You know where we're going?"

His feet knew the way. They edged along one pathway, careful to step only on the undecorated stones paving the floor. He didn't know how he knew where to go, or how to avoid all of the pitfalls, yet they had successfully evaded each one.

He had made one misstep, his foot barely skimmed the edge of a scarab-decorated panel before it vanished underneath him. Thrown off-balance, he started to fall before a firm hand on the back of his robe pulled him back onto the tile that Bakura was safely on. His shoulders would brush Bakura's with every sharp short breath for a minute following that near miss, and neither of them spoke, continuing on down one final flight of stairs and into a wide open room, extraordinarily wide for being so far underground, deep in the recesses of his mind.

In the middle of the room was a large stone tablet, one that he often saw in his dreams, and he approached it, unsure if his mind was still playing tricks on him. It was when he saw the dark red stain near one jagged corner of the rock that he felt anew the pain that he had suppressed following that day. He remembered it all, clenching his eyes shut against it as Bakura watched on as if observing a particular specimen under glass.

His mind re-wound the clocks back to a time when it wasn't Bakura at all that he knew, before he became twisted into something so dark and menacing.

_The guardian of the Millennium Items and a king of thieves made the unlikeliest of alliances. It wouldn't quite be called a friendship by either of them—a mutual, if easily aggravated, satisfaction at the other's company, sure, but nothing either would risk their lives over. It worked in that moment. _

_They were arguing at the deepest part of the chamber. Somehow, on a deceptively ordinary day, the thief had broken through every last defense—from the traps that he had told him about outright or the ones he had mumbled in his sleep; either way he had gotten in. Shadi hadn't felt betrayed—after all, he hadn't exactly stolen anything yet—just confused. "Step away from the tablet," Shadi warned, blocking the exit with his body as the Thief King continued to advance towards the carved stone. _

"_I'm a thief," he said, simple and devoid of inflection. "You can't expect me to turn back now." He reached for one of the golden Items and Shadi lunged, knocking him to the side. A hidden switch in the room was triggered as they continued to fight and panels of the floor began to slide away. The chasm underneath the tablet was a dark and swirling miasma. _

_Shadi's head smacked into the rough-hewn edge of the tablet and, dazed, he pushed and kicked outwards, shielding his body from further harm. His leg tangled in the Thief King's own limbs and he fell backwards into the void. _

_Shadi tried to clear his head but his vision swam—he gently touched the back of his head and it came away bloody. Cursing at the pain, he climbed to his feet and peered over the edge. He had heard tales that the pit was bottomless, that any perpetrator was doomed to fall into its depths for eternity, yet he had also heard other tales. Tales of a shadowy, spiritual plane where monsters lurked that could devour men's souls. _

_He had to save him, by any means that he could. He stumbled towards the tablet, feeling the blood from his head wound sticking to the collars of his robes. There was a smear of red on the tablet from his injury—red like his cloak, it was the exact same shade. He took up the Millennium Scales into his hands. They had the power to fuse together these monsters from the Shadow Realm and humans into one stronger being. Shadi invoked the magic of the Scales, and one of his last conscious thoughts was that he would stay tied to this earth as protector of the Items for as long as it took to restore his friend back to the person he had known. _

It was all traced back to him. This whole battle, how their very world hung on a precipice between order and absolute chaos—all because of him.

Shadi started breathing in quick bursts, his heart hammering in his chest, it all welling up inside of him into the one terrible conclusion: "I'm just like you." Dark, at fault, half-insane with the guilt and the remembrance. In the millennia since that day, he had pushed it all to the back of his mind, hidden, inaccessible, like something to be ashamed of. He was ashamed of it. He was better off not knowing.

Time had not been kind to either of them.

"You… you did this." A sickening feeling was creeping up through him. His arms shook slightly as he reached up to remove his turban. He continued to hold it in both hands, feeling the cloth in-between his fingers, but it was Bakura who reached up and ran his fingers along the scars, the raised bumps and blemishes that had never healed.

"I'll give you what you want. You want an escape, I can give you that. If you want to forget, I can make that happen. But it seems to me that you've done more than enough waiting and not enough living. Forget the past. The person you once knew is gone, gone forever. You'll be here wandering for eternity."

Bakura continued to trace the scar on the back of his head, fascinated by the mottled skin. "I am also forever." It was a whisper, so soft that Shadi was unsure he had said anything at all. "Why are we on opposite sides? You said it yourself, you're just like me."

"No," Shadi said, regaining his senses, "Don't say another word." He wanted to—always so silent, always so careful, but then he wanted to scream. To tear himself away from him and shout _I'm not like you, I'm trying to stop you!_ He wanted to push him away and if he were to fall, then so be it. He had made a mistake, had lost a lot of blood and wasn't thinking straight, and had set into motion a chain of events which he now felt powerless to do anything about.

"Ah, so you want a certain thief king." He could practically hear Bakura's smile as he reached up and removed his earrings—probably stowing them away in his pocket—before turning him around so they were facing each other.

"I'm the thief king."

It was a lie, an obvious one but he knew that Shadi would take what he was offering to him. He could believe whatever he wanted and it wouldn't make a difference. Bakura had told him he was persuasive, that he would take what he wanted. He was still something of a thief after all.

"You lack passion. You don't have any desire—desire to live is the least of it." Bakura considered himself something of an expert on the matter. His host had been only the first, and Shadi wouldn't be the last. Removing the earrings and turban was a step in the right direction. He nearly looked like the oldest Ishtar this way.

"Do you want to know something about the stars?" Bakura asked as they gazed up at the sky. "Looking at the stars is like looking into the past. We only see the stars as they were then, how they were when the light left them." He stepped even closer to Shadi, making the man look at him. He wanted all of his thoughts to be focused only on him. "The stars look magnificent in the darkness."

"Bakura—" He said only one word, only his name.

"Join it. Give in to the darkness. Give in to me," Bakura whispered, his breath ghosting the side of his ear.

Shadi knew that their time there was just that—nothing there would impact their lives outside the world of his shared mind. What he did, what they did, would make no difference.

It made all the difference.

He had already fallen once before and had spent millennia clawing his way back up to this very spot, only to fall again. He wondered briefly how it would feel to look across the battlefield and see his face. Shadi, the incorruptible. Shadi, steadfast for thousands of years. Thrown to the ground in an instant, but he would pick it up again not much the worse for wear. He pushed down the small voice inside him that argued weakly that it could come to define him just as every other hastily-made action had.

"Yes," Bakura whispered his success as Shadi closed his eyes. He knew that time ran differently here, but they probably had plenty of time. Shadi pulled away to breathe before leaning up to kiss him again.

The moment before he did, he looked up beyond Bakura's shoulder and tried to form shapes out of the dimming stars. He was doomed, for the moment they were all doomed, but Shadi had never felt more alive.

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground is a lovely bluesy song, but I wasn't really referencing it. Instead, I am paying homage to a fantasy on a fantasy on that song! :D DwtN is one movement of a modern piece of music that combines blues, minimalism, and modern poetry with settings of the Mass texts (Kyrie, Gloria, etc) called _John the Revelator_, and it is really quite fabulous (as far as modern music goes). The text in the quote is actually another movement of the piece, and when I read it before the concert (I got to hear it performed live and watch an after-concert Q&A session with the composer!) I nearly cried for some strange reason ^ ^; It just really spoke to me, which is really odd because it's Beckett and nobody knows what he's talking about, but what have you...

But yeah, there's just something about apathetic characters who try really hard at a few times (to their credit) but it all falls to pieces (to their detriment) that I just adore. Maybe because it's so much like my life xD

Stories in a similar vein to this one: Memento, Moretum, Cogito Ergo Sum, if you're so inclined.

_Ryou VeRua_: I apologize for the lack of track suits in the story. xD

Reviews are adored, but most importantly thank you for reading!


	11. For Justice! For Love! For Card Games! 2

**For Justice! For Love! For Card Games! 2** is my entry for Round One of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, Season ; the challenge pairing is Peachshipping: YugixAnzu, and is a continuation of my Spiritshipping story titled: _For Justice! For Love! For Card Games!_ It's actually something of a spoof of all those superhero movies as well as movie sequels, so read this with a healthy sense of humor and sarcasm. Hope you enjoy!

For those who need a recap of the events of Ch 1:

Instead of wishing for friends, when Yugi completes the Millennium Puzzle he wishes for superpowers; he uses those powers to defeat the Rare Hunters and get the girl of his dreams (Anzu), the only person who knows of his identity as the masked hero Yami. Now in possession of the Millennium Rod, he is given cryptic orders from Shadi to reunite the item with its true owner…

* * *

_"For Justice! For Love! For Card Games!"_

_2_

* * *

Strange things happened in Domino City.

Everyone was pretty much used to that.

Yet when something truly unusual came about, the population of Domino reacted… pretty typically.

"What are we going to do with all of this, boss?" Ryuuzaki, the features editor for the _Domino Daily_ newspaper, asked as the staff peered into the overstuffed closet. Already pieces of paper were sliding down the mounds of envelopes stacked too high, ending up scattered around their feet.

"We received another crate of letters today," one of the junior staffers said, hefting the box in his thin, sticklike arms. "They're all the same. Love letters to Yami."

Haga, the editor-in-chief, swiveled in his leather executive's chair, the kind you could find marked-up as part of a display at any office supply store. He looked on as Ryuuzaki became the victim of a sudden avalanche of love letters with a tinge of satisfaction. Probably the closest he'd ever get to any.

"Gentlemen, we have a distinct problem." He stood up and walked with measured steps to the hallway strewn with papers. Here they were, gawking, when there was news to be reported!

"No way… really?" Haga made a mental note to demote Ryuuzaki at his earliest convenience.

"We also have a distinct solution to this problem. We want the public to stop adoring Yami? Then we've got to print stories that show him for what he really is. What are our reports on him so far?" He addressed each staffer in turn.

"Multiple eyewitness reports that Yami foiled a bank robbery on Tuesday."

"He rescued my neighbor's cat this morning."

Haga ran a hand through his hair, frowning at the aura of incompetence around him. Once again, it was up to him to save the newspaper and make the headlines. Really, he was the one they all should be fawning over.

"New track: big, bold letters. _Who is Yami?_ We need him to start owning up and answering for his crimes. Does Domino support vigilante justice? He's already done thousands in property damage." Haga paused—he wasn't sure that last bit was true or not but hey, it sounded good.

"I'm on it, boss!" Ryuuzaki left for his own office, followed by two junior staffers. Haga sighed, returning to his you've-made-it chair and leaning back. From the window, he had an incredible view of Domino City. He squinted, trying to make out the people on the ground below walking to lunch or school or wherever their lives took them. Yami was out there. He could feel it.

* * *

"You're serious?" Anzu took one more moment to check her reflection in the mirror near the front door. "We were lucky to even get an invitation and you want to be a walking advertisement for your Game Shop?"

Yugi smoothed down the unruly ends of his hair and gave his turtle-shaped lapel pin a firm press. "It even lights up. I have one for you too somewhere…" He continued to fumble in his pockets while Anzu sighed and headed for the door.

It seemed that every other week Seto Kaiba threw the event of the century.

They showed their event passes to several men in immaculately starched suits and proceeded into the huge glass atrium that bulged out to one side of the Kaiba Corporation tower, where a wall hung with curtains concealed something special for the night's festivities. Patrons mingled around the bar, and Yugi hovered at the refreshment table, compensating for their lean dinner. Why go to the trouble to cook when he was going to feast on the city's best catering?

Yugi reached past decoratively carved pineapples in the shape of various duel monsters, snatching the last bunch of grapes as a garnish to his already heaped plate. Balancing it all with two glasses of punch—one for himself and one for Anzu—he spotted her near the middle of the room talking to Ryuuji Otogi. Hopefully his presence tonight wouldn't cause any undue strain between them. Yugi was still genuinely pleased that she had chosen him, of all people, and that their gently blossoming relationship seemed to make her happy.

"Yugi," Ryuuji said, nodding at him in greeting. Anzu gratefully took her punch; there was nothing better than food or beverage when one wanted to avoid conversation in any socially conscious setting. "Nice lapel pin."

"Why thank you," Yugi began, reaching for the first level of food on his plate, "It actually lights up—"

"Fascinating." Ryuuji wanted nothing more than to recommend that Yugi show that particular specimen of ingenuity to their host himself. "I was just telling Anzu a little of what Kaiba's got planned for tonight."

In an exaggerated whisper, he continued, "Kaiba is going to publicly challenge Yami to a duel."

Yugi froze, crumbs clinging to the corners of his lips. The cake that had tasted so sweet now rolled across his tongue in an unpalatable lump. Ryuuji was too distracted by the lit-up turtle to notice anything else and had continued along in his whispers of the not-so-secret plans. "Sure, it's a great publicity stunt, but I think Kaiba _wants_ to duel him. Just think: two faces of Duel Monsters, the famous and the infamous! Kaiba's been challenging him for the past two parties so far, and Yami hasn't showed. Perhaps tonight will be our lucky night, hmmm?" He smiled at Anzu and turned to the next row of small round tables, eager to circulate the room.

Anzu waited for them to be alone before saying anything. "Are you going to do it?"

"Duel him? Of course!" He loved the game, always had. It didn't hurt that he was quite good at it too.

"What about your disguise?"

"It was brisk. I dressed in layers."

"You're impossible." Anzu hid the smallest of smiles behind the faceted sides of her punch glass.

In due time Seto Kaiba ascended the impossibly lavish podium, the crowd quieting as he began to address them. "Kaiba Corporation," he said, taking the time with each word because why else were these people here if not for _him_, "is on the threshold of a new age, a digital frontier. Our technology will bring to life things we never before imagined. Let me introduce you to the new face of Duel Monsters!"

The crowd cheered as the curtain parted, revealing a large dueling arena. About the size of a tennis court, there were two small, raised platforms for the opponents to face each other with. Stadium lights had burst on, washing the hall with light.

"Yami! Show yourself and duel me—that is, if you're not afraid of losing!"

He continued to declare his challenge as the murmuring of the crowd increased, guests leaning back or stretching to their tiptoes to see past the podium to the arena beyond—or more precisely, to see the additional figure already standing in one of the platforms, deck in his hand, a confident smirk visible just under a black cowl obscuring his identity from the onlookers.

No one looked more surprised to see him than Seto Kaiba, quickly lapsing back into a poker-face worthy scowl. "Took you long enough."

They started to duel, the guests crowding around the arena, their faces alight with shock and awe as the monsters they summoned materialized on the floor between them in a burst of brilliant light. Kaiba took a cursory look at his hand; it was only a matter of time before he was able to summon his signature Blue-Eyes. It would be the end of this duel.

Everyone was so distracted by the hologram monsters that considerably less attention was paid to Yami himself. If they had, perhaps they would have noticed the distress he was in—not in regards to his duel, that was progressing nicely. No, it seemed as if he was at war with himself, reaching for different cards in his hand before returning them, his arms shaking as if they were moving without his consent. He was even mumbling faintly to himself.

"No!" he whispered as his hand played one monster card face-down. "I had meant to play Kuriboh!" Yet instead the Giant Soldier of Stone went onto the field. He had never felt like this before, ever—like his own body was betraying him.

_Trust me… if you want to win, you'll just let me take over for a little while…_

Was that coming from inside his head? His heart was thudding in his chest… a public duel in front of hundreds of people—not to mention on a raised platform—was no place to have a breakdown. 'Alright, self,' Yugi thought, watching as Kaiba brought another monster to the field, 'just keep it together for one duel, and we…_I_… can discuss this later.'

_We._

That voice was back! It was a little darker, more forceful than his own tenor, but the feeling of something so foreign within himself terrified him. He'd rather go up against that army of Rare Hunters all over again than hear that voice inside his head one more time…

_Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting_, the voice continued. _Fine, I'll let you lose the duel, is that what you want?_ The foreign presence started to dissipate, the last words echoing in the recesses of his mind: _we'll finish this later…_

Kaiba's voice rang out loudly, triumphantly, typically. "I sacrifice my monsters on the field to summon the Blue-Eyes White Dragon!" The crowd clapped as a huge dragon burst to life, stretching its large, silvery-white wings.

Yugi chanced a look down—ever since the duel began his Puzzle had felt different, but he couldn't help but notice the specific, laser-like light the other Item had emitted with that last turn. Not the Puzzle, not his Item, but the one he had taken from Marik. He saw firsthand its powers when used wrongly so he always kept it with him to ensure its safety. The golden-hued Rod was clipped to his belt, and he had never seen it emit light like that before.

No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. "That dragon looks so lifelike!" He overheard one spectator say.

"I know!" another added enthusiastically. "Kaiba Corporation did a great job with these monster holograms. It almost looks real!"

Kaiba hadn't called his attack yet, content to bask in the inevitability of his victory. The Blue-Eyes White Dragon arched its neck, its head slowly tilting back and forth as if taking in the surroundings. Its eyes scanned over the other side of the arena to the large expansive hall beyond, to the guests in their glittering formal wear. It looked up, to the large vaulted ceiling of glass, lit by several crystal chandeliers. It was a thing of beauty.

The dragon's wings began to beat once, twice, and with seemingly no effort at all it rose into the air, wings flapping to keep it steady in midair. The crowd began to applaud again.

The dragon then continued to rise, its wings propelling it further towards the ceiling. Yugi glanced across the arena to Kaiba, whose poker-face was beginning to slip. This, apparently, was not part of the plan.

It took him only an instant to realize what was about to happen. "Everybody get down!"

One massive wing lashed out, striking at one of the chandeliers, tangling in the fixture and sending shards of crystal plummeting to the floor. The monster was now outside of the dueling arena entirely, its body casting a shadow covering nearly half of the atrium itself.

Then somebody screamed and started to run, the genteel crowd quickly transforming into a single-minded mass, intent on finding the exit.

The dragon freed its wings from the chandelier, its head now bumping against the glass ceiling of the space. It screeched, the sound unlike anything Yugi had ever heard before. The faintest crackles of electricity began to build in its open mouth, and a moment later it let loose its attack, a peal of lightning zapping the ceiling and shattering the glass.

It was pure instinct—he reached for his deck and flipped over the next card.

"Swords of Revealing Light!"

Instantly, all motion inside the atrium ceased. The dragon's wings were stilled in mid-beat, the first shards of glass only beginning to fall around it. Each person in the hall was frozen, whether in the mass clamoring for the exit or staring, shocked, at the scene of destruction around them.

Each person… except one.

"Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

Seto Kaiba looked furious. While he had every right to be, Yugi thought that it might be a façade, disguised to hide any other reactions to seeing his Blue-Eyes destroying his building.

"I am only capable of summoning my own monsters. The only logical explanation is that _you_ summoned it." Yugi looked down at the Millennium Rod clipped to his belt. Shadi's directives suddenly made much more sense.

_"You must reunite the Millennium Rod with its chosen user. Not that fiend Marik, who wrongly took control of the Item for his own gain. The Item knows its true master; you must restore that balance by finding the person to whom it rightfully belongs."_

_"…that's it?" Yugi blinked in surprise. …He didn't have anything else to go on?_

_"Your role as the hero of Domino is far from over, Yugi Moto," Shadi said, staring at Yugi as if he could see through to his very soul. "Your role as the mediator of the Items has only just begun."_

"I… summoned it?" Kaiba let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "It must be a flaw in the hologram system—"

"Does that explain the lightning? The ceiling coming down?"

"Ball lightning is a rare but not unheard-of phenomenon—"

Yugi frowned. "You can't explain away the time-freeze. You must believe me when I say that we are dealing with magic… magic with a very specific cause."

Yugi held out the Millennium Rod. It seemed to pulse underneath his fingers, as if it was waking up from a state of hibernation. "I have been searching for the true owner of the Millennium Rod. It… reacted to your summoning of the Blue-Eyes, in the same way that my Item allows me to summon monsters." Yugi stopped for a moment. Kaiba's look was growing more incredulous by the second. "Although it pains me to say it, I believe that you are the true owner of this Item."

Kaiba gave him one long look. It was clear to Yugi that this was not the way he envisioned this evening progressing. "This duel is over. I have a company to run, a building to fix, and a massive PR campaign to launch to rebound from this… incident."

Yugi sighed. Of course, it was never that easy. "Kaiba, I could teach you how to control it—"

"And one more thing," he said, folding his arms. "I'm nobody's sidekick."

* * *

Yugi stood in the very middle of his sanctum sanctorum, the private space where he could co-exist as both Yugi and Yami, where he could unwind after a long day of defending the city of Domino. It was the income property in their basement that Yugi had been sprucing up to rent out, but now it seemed the space would be put to a very different use.

"Alright, self," he said, studying his reflection in a large full-length mirror. "Show… yourself?"

He didn't exactly know what was about to happen, so when his reflection in the mirror started to twist away from himself into a doppelganger staring back at him beside his usual reflection he shrieked, jumping back from the mirror and nearly tripping over a misplaced storage box. His reflection moved, the… _other_ didn't.

"I'm not yourself," the not-reflection said, eyes narrowed as he took in the space, "I'm… myself."

"Oh, great," Yugi replied. It was official: he was going crazy. "Then what do I call you?"

"How about Yami?" It smiled, as if they were sharing in a private joke. "I don't have a name; at least, not one that I remember. And I think 'Spirit of the Millennium Puzzle' would be far too long a designation, don't you?"

In response, Yugi held up the Item that still hung around his neck, looking it over as if he expected to find a miniature door that he could peer inside, perhaps complete with all the other typical accoutrements of domesticity. "You… live in here?"

"Yugi, I'm not the Puzzle, you don't have to look at it when you talk to me." Hastily, Yugi dropped the Item, which fell backwards against his chest. "I'm the Spirit of the Puzzle. I'm very much real."

Yugi flopped over onto the ground, staring up at Yami with wide eyes. "Why didn't Shadi tell me about this? And… why haven't I seen you before? I've had the Puzzle for a while now."

"Yes, but you haven't dueled until tonight," Yami said, as if that explained everything. "There's a difference, between merely summoning the monsters and dueling against an opponent. Although, your particular opponent might have had something to do with it."

"You mean Seto Kaiba? Yeah…" Yugi sighed, picking up the Millennium Rod from the floor and rolling it between his palms. "I don't know what to do; he just flat-out refused to take it."

"Let me deal with him," Yami said, a newfound determination to his face. "I think I know how to get him to see reason."

* * *

Seto Kaiba sat in his office, a copy of the _Domino Daily_ on the desk in front of him. Underneath headlines screaming against Domino's hero of the hour was the article he had been promised would run that day. The article was short, and poorly written, but it had everything in it his PR representatives had demanded. _"A combination of ball lightning and a missing hinge on the hologram caused the Blue-Eyes white dragon to appear to float over the atrium in the KC showcase only last night. No injuries were reported and the damage, so far, is minimal. Kaiba Corporation will continue in their marketing of the holographic dueling platform…"_

He sighed, folding the paper once and dropping it into the recycling bin beside his desk. At the same time, the door to his office opened a fraction and his secretary, a middle-aged woman with large glasses, poked her face in. "A visitor to see you, sir."

"Does he have an appointment?" He already knew the answer to that question, but he asked it anyway.

"No, sir. But… you'd better see him." She pushed the door open a bit more, and to Kaiba's amazement in walked a man with his hair and features hidden by a black cowl, a large golden pendant hanging around his neck. He took a seat directly in front of Kaiba, although he had never been offered one.

"I don't suppose I could kick you out, could I?" Kaiba asked, leaning back into his chair. He noticed that Yami had come with that ridiculous golden pipe strapped to his side. At least he had the strength of his convictions, if nothing else. He nodded curtly at his secretary, who was still hovering by the door, and she left immediately.

Yami leant forwards, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If you take me up on my offer, then you'll have the power to kick me out yourself."

* * *

"You _threatened_ him?"

The Spirit of the Puzzle threw his hands up. "I did no such thing. I merely offered him a rematch, along with several… less desirable alternatives if he refused to duel me."

"Yami, that's called threatening." Yugi didn't look too happy with the recent turn of events, except his eyes did occasionally dart to the empty space where the Millennium Rod would have been. At least his methods brought results. "So, let me guess… loser gets the Item?"

"Of course," he replied, an amused glitter to his eyes. "And I always win."

"Right." Yugi remembered all-too-well the feeling of being possessed that first time, when Yami attempted to use his own strategies in their first duel. "…And then what?"

"I taught him how to summon his Blue-Eyes, and told him to practice it in his own home," Yami said. "It's very curious, that he can only summon that monster. I believe it is because that seems to be the only card he has a connection with." He paused, studying his companion. "So that's it, then? Your job is done?"

"It's never that easy," Yugi said, taking out his deck and shuffling the cards. He had better get back to work. Dividing his time between his duties as Yami and keeping regular hours at the Game Shop was becoming exhausting. He hadn't called Anzu in days. He practically fell asleep each night before his head hit the pillow. Pretty soon, something would have to give.

* * *

"Thank you, and come again!"

The bell over the shop door chimed as a trio of grade-schoolers left the store, talking and laughing. Yugi checked his watch; now was as good a time as ever to update their window displays. He was cleaning the dust from the corners of the window when another customer entered, heading straight for him.

"Can I help you…?" The words died on his mouth when he looked up. The creator of Duel Monsters was standing in his shop. "You're Pegasus Crawford."

Great. Now the man probably thought he was as stupid as he looked right then, with a smear of dust on his clothes, the sun in his eyes, and apparently also without coherent thought.

"Indeed I am. And you must be Yugi Moto. I do hope I'm not intruding." Pegasus surveyed the store as Yugi scrambled to his feet, anxious to be of assistance.

"Of course not! Although I admit I'm wondering what the creator of Duel Monsters wants with a tiny Game Shop like this." Yugi hurried to the counter, re-stacking the display of action figures that had fallen over.

"Not with what, but with who." Pegasus moved with surprising swiftness to the counter. It was only then, staring face to face, that Yugi understood just why he had come here.

He looked up into Pegasus' face and into the glimmering gold of a wedjat eye. It had been hidden earlier by his hair. Pegasus had shown him the eye.

He wanted him to see it.

"I know that your little store has been struggling lately to make ends meet," he said, his voice mellifluous, concerned. "What with the recent medical bills for your ailing Grandfather, as well as your other expenses—it's tough, I know. You even took your small basement rental off the market. Pity, that money could have helped."

Yugi's face was heated, and he was finding it difficult to look up. "I already know all of these things."

"I just wanted you to know that there are other… unexplored options," Pegasus replied, folding his arms on the countertop. "I can make all of those problems go away—you won't ever have to worry about money again. I'll even throw in some of my rarest cards, just for you."

Yugi wasn't convinced. Still, the thought of their money troubles being over was tempting. "Why are you doing this?"

"Let's just say I'm a philanthropist, and I admire what you've done with the place." Pegasus stopped, turning ever so slightly towards him. Yugi got another look at his golden eye—it was unnerving, the way it seemed to stare at him, through him. "But of course, I'm looking for something in return. A small something, really."

"What?"

"I require the use of your Millennium Puzzle. Twenty-four hours should do the trick," he said, a sharper edge to his otherwise pleasant tone.

"I—I don't understand."

"You are the owner of the Puzzle, the caped crusader known as Yami, am I correct? And don't bother correcting me; I already know who you are. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know."

"Then… how did you know… that I'm Yami?" Yugi's hand reached for the drawer pull in the cabinet where he kept the Puzzle, just in case.

"Because you just told me." Pegsasus laughed. "And besides, it's written all over your face."

Pegasus steepled his fingers over the edge of the countertop, his arms also resting on the cold surface. "I don't require your Item for anything nefarious… or anything less than extraordinary. I simply need the additional power. You know, I presume, what this is?" He motioned subtly to his eye. Yugi nodded.

"Good. I'll leave you to decide, but make up your mind quickly." A moment later, he was gone, the bell over the door chiming. The ringing reminded him that yes, that entire exchange had actually happened. A small part of him, though, wished he had been dreaming. That would have made things a lot less complicated.

* * *

"What's the fun of going out when you can have a lovely, perfect, _romantic_ night in?"

Yugi gestured with a large wooden spoon as he talked, Anzu laughing from her position on the other side of the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables into smaller, bite-sized pieces. He returned the spoon to the pot that was bubbling away on the stove, stirring to keep the pasta inside from clumping together.

This was his plan to re-kindle their relationship—a custom meal for two that they prepared together. Custom, at least, sounded a lot better than 'whatever was on sale at the grocery,' anyways, and it gave them a good chance to talk. They were like how a match first struck bursts into life and then dwindles to a smaller, compact flame. He desperately wanted to keep that fire from snuffing out.

"Does this look like enough to you?" Anzu asked, motioning to two small mounds of mushrooms and carrots.

"I think we need… one more." Yugi came up behind her, enclosing her hands within his. Slowly he guided them back to the last carrot. As they chopped it together he couldn't help but notice how long and slim her fingers were. Her hand might be bigger than his. He smiled; so far the evening was going perfectly. It was the boldest thing he'd ever done, at any rate. "Now taste a noodle and tell me if the pasta is done or not."

Dinner was wonderful; Yugi felt himself unwinding much like the pasta noodles, the stresses of the week slipping away from him. They talked of silly things—reminiscing from the old days where they were the best of friends, the upcoming recital for the dance class Anzu taught, more strange Egyptian things Yugi found in some of his grandfather's storage boxes from his career as an archaeologist.

Eventually, though, it winded back to the money, and all of the problems that he had been trying unsuccessfully to hide from her. "—But I don't have to worry anymore," he was saying, as he took her hand from across the table, "because I had the most amazing visitor today. Would you believe it, that Pegasus Crawford came to the Game Shop?"

"And who is…?"

"The creator of Duel Monsters!" Yugi said, smiling. "And do you know the most amazing thing—he has a Millennium Item too! Although I wouldn't ever want his one—it's his eye, for goodness' sake—"

Anzu's hand stilled in his grasp as she tried to puzzle everything out. "He just… showed it to you? Isn't that something you kind of keep secret?"

"Anzu, he couldn't exactly hide it—it's his _eye_—"

"Still… what did he tell you? Did you make a deal?"

Yugi nodded. "All I have to do is lend him my powers for less than a day—he said he needs the combined power of multiple Items… Anzu?"

"He's… bribing you?" she asked. When he started to sputter something else, she stilled him with a gentle tug on his hand. "Yugi, he's essentially paying you to use the Puzzle. That's a bribe."

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

For a moment neither of them spoke. Yugi couldn't help but be just the slightest bit angry. It was his choice—and he could take care of himself. He could take care of her, too, if she'd let him.

"I want you to do what's right. Talk to him—if there's something going on, then why does he have to enlist your help by paying you? Just what does he need your power to do?" Anzu gave him a tight-lipped smile.

When she left later that night, Yugi knew what he had to do. With only the slightest bit of trepidation he picked up the phone and dialed in the last-called number, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"Pegasus Crawford?"

* * *

He ran, his feet pounding against the sidewalk squares. First up one street, then a left and down another. His chest ached, but if it was true—

The response had been chillingly brief. _You'd better check on your girlfriend_, Pegasus had said. _Wouldn't want anything to happen to her, now would we?_

He had thrown the Millennium Puzzle over his neck just in case, covering up with a hoodie so anyone out this late wouldn't recognize the icon that was synonymous with the city's hero. It thudded against his chest as he ran, a constant reminder that even with is powers, he might still be too late.

"Anzu!" He rang her apartment, knocking on the door a moment later when there was no immediate response. He pounded on the door, first with one hand, and then the other when his fingers started to ache.

He heard the door unlock from the inside and a moment later the door opened a fraction. "…Yugi?" Anzu sounded sleepy, and on seeing her here, unharmed, made Yugi very aware of how late it actually was. "You woke me up."

"Anzu, this is important. I think that Pegasus is going to try and target you, as revenge for me reneging on our deal." She let him inside, pulling her gray robe tighter around herself when the cold night air started to seep into the apartment.

"What's he going to do at this hour?" She yawned. The phone rang, faintly, from the kitchen. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Yugi took a seat on an exceptionally comfortable chair, feeling like a fool for coming up here in the middle of the night. He'd make sure she was okay and then go back home. They could meet up the next day. It was ridiculous, to act so worried.

"Anzu?" He heard the phone stop ringing, but there hadn't been any other sounds coming from the apartment. Yugi made his way to the kitchen, seeing her standing in the dead center of the room, the phone tucked underneath her ear. One of her hands was messing with the phone cord. She was silent, listening intently to whoever was on the line.

It was pretty typical for Yugi—whenever he had to say something, his throat dried up and the words tangled themselves up on his tongue, tripping out into something he had never meant to say. So he started at her, and she stared back—for one terrifying moment he was paralyzed, about to say _something_ when suddenly the light left her eyes.

She fell, her body limp like a ragdoll, and instead of shock or pain or even fear in her gaze there was nothing.

The phone bobbed in the air, its cord hanging like a lifeline, twisting and turning, but all of Yugi's attention was on Anzu. He dove forwards, only just breaking her fall, running his hands over her face and smoothing her hair. Was her heart still beating? Could she hear him at all?

The phone continued to spin and bob in the air, and Yugi felt something inside him clench. He knew that voice.

"What have you done to her?" It was Yami speaking now, his voice harsh and threatening. Yugi was withdrawing to a dark place inside of his own mind, because numbness had to feel better than this.

"I merely sealed her soul away," Pegasus said, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. "It's with me now, butI presume you'll want it back? Then you will come to my island at noon tomorrow, and you will fulfill our arrangement."

Then, _click_, the line went dead.

Yugi carried Anzu up to her bed and did his best to make her comfortable. Then, exhausted, he made it down to the couch in her living room before he collapsed onto it, already half-asleep. It was the first time that he had truly felt afraid; not for himself, but for Anzu. If Pegasus could take away her soul so easily, then what else was he capable of?

* * *

"…Yami?"

Catching Seto Kaiba off guard would have been infinitely more satisfying had the occasion been any less dire, so when the masked superhero walked into Kaiba's office early that morning like he owned the place, he got right to the point. "This is an emergency. I need to use one of your helicopters."

"…Come again?" What, was he asking for endorsements now? Just who was this guy?

"I would never ask for your help unless there was no other alternative. I need to get to Pegasus Crawford's island as soon as possible. I just need one helicopter." Like hell he would actually say please, or get down on his knees and beg, but Kaiba didn't look like he expected anything like that. Instead he studied Yami intently, and after a minute, something shifted. It wasn't a smile—Seto Kaiba never smiled—but if it was anyone else, that's what Yami would say happened.

"I've got something faster."

* * *

"We're coming up to his island. We'll land right on the lawn—unless you were hoping for the element of surprise."

"No," Yami said, the noise in the cabin thunderous even though he was wearing headphones to block out the worst of it. "But I doubt we'd be able to hide a plane like this anywhere."

Seto Kaiba fussed with the controls of the plane, bringing the dragon-shaped jet down closer to the island. It was only large enough for the two passengers, but Kaiba hadn't lied about its speed. They had made good time. And despite what Kaiba had said earlier about being his sidekick, Yami knew that it didn't hurt to have some backup.

They touched down and exited the jet, moving quickly into the large, castle-like structure that seemed to be the only real building on the island. The interior was just as regal, with a red carpet runner down the center of the foyer and paintings hanging from every wall. Besides them, the hall was completely empty.

Yami moved first, making his way cautiously but quickly across the room. "Where are they?" he hissed.

"He probably already knows that we're here," Kaiba said, his eyes scanning the room as they moved into an adjoining hallway. "This whole thing is probably one big trap—"

Then his foot pressed down on one particular stone tile and the floor fell out from beneath them.

Yami shouted as he fell, landing on his hands and knees and sprawling forwards. It stung a little but he quickly rose to his feet as Kaiba fell beside him, his trenchcoat flaring out and fluttering in the air. He landed on his feet, a bent knee the only sign that he had, in fact, been at all affected by the fall.

They didn't fall far, but it was much too high to climb back up. They had to continue onwards—their new path stretched out before them in only a single direction, and it didn't escape either of them that Pegasus was probably controlling their movements, guiding them to a point of his choosing.

They followed the tunnel, twisting and turning, until it opened out into a room.

The space they found themselves in was large and windowless, more like a cavern than a chamber, with rows of columns supporting the sloped ceiling. Through the thin light Yami could see an odd group of low boxes, pushed side-by-side in the middle of the room, but he was too far to see what could be in them.

"This is really creepy," Yami said as they moved into the space. Higher up, the columns flared outwards, and he could make out strings of pictograms etched into the stone. The walls around them were made of small, stacked bricks that took on a golden hue from the large taper candles that provided the only light in the room.

"Yeah, about as creepy as the person who lives here," Kaiba replied. As they got closer it became apparent that what they thought were many was only one box, large and rectangular, with a hinged lid.

"What an interesting way of appreciating my hospitality."

It was Pegasus, gliding out from behind a column, his face a mask of impassivity as he studied them both, one with each eye.

"You will return Anzu's soul to her!" Yami shouted at Pegasus. Kaiba shot a glance at Yami—that was their purpose, to retrieve a soul?

"All in good time," he replied, brushing imaginary dust from the sleeves of his red statement suit. "Your feelings of loss are so…short-lived. It is only with time that you can truly understand the unimaginable pain—" and then he looked upwards, sharply, at Kaiba "—of losing."

Then they all leaned forwards and studied the box. It was wooden, with more pictograms painted in lines across its surface. What was most peculiar, however, was the shape of the box—it jutted out towards the top in a most recognizable way. from the way the casket was placed and the almost revering way Pegasus was regarding it, he could not tell if it was occupied, and if not, if it was meant to hold one of their bodies.

"That's a casket." Yami's lip curled distastefully. "What is the meaning of this?" From the way the casket was placed and the almost revering way Pegasus was regarding it, he could not tell if it was occupied, and if not, if it was meant to hold one of their bodies.

"A bond is a curious thing," Pegasus began, motioning with his hands as he talked. "It can stretch across time… or across space… even across lines previously untouchable."

"I have known the most supreme happiness and the deepest pits of despair," he said, looking back to the coffin. "Her name is Cyndia. We were only just married, before death claimed her. I was in misery for weeks, as if my own beating heart had been wrenched from me. There was nothing I could do."

Yami and Kaiba just looked at him sadly, contemptuously.

"But with the power of the Millennium Item I was given, I was granted a new life. The powers of the Eye reach beyond death, and I was able to see her, if for only a moment. You know, I still think of her as my wife," he said, placing his hands reverently upon the coffin. "And with the added power of the Puzzle and the Rod—combined with the power of the Item I've already been given, by a lovely young woman whose brother is unfortunately in prison by your hand—there will be enough to bring her back."

Kaiba scoffed. "You're insane if you think you can bring someone back to life."

Yami simply stood beside him, silently, and watched Pegasus mourn his late wife. Death had parted them, but he refused to let her go. This entire room was a testament to that.

Pegasus suddenly moved even closer to them, his Item clearly visible in the half-light. "Tell me, what would you _not_ do for that one person whom you love above all others?" he demanded. "What sacrifices would you make? How far would you go, and never look back?"

For a moment they were silent, thoughtful. Yami broke the silence, his voice wavering slightly. "…You shouldn't do this."

"You don't have a choice," Pegasus said bitterly. "I have her soul. And I'm sure that there's nothing you won't do to get it back."

Yami looked at Pegasus and at the coffin that separated them. He nodded.

"Now, Kaiba, it's your turn. Of course, by now you know just what happens when someone doesn't agree when I ask the first time."

Kaiba looked murderous, but he nodded once, catching Yami's grateful look.

"Excellent." Pegasus smiled broadly. "It's the same principle as summoning a monster—you tap into the power of your Item. Then transfer it to me, and I'll be able to transfer it to her."

Yami felt uneasy at best, but he placed his hands around the Puzzle and willed it to transfer over. His Item began to glow, the Millennium Rod joining it, lighting up the room just as well as the candles had. Beams of light arced through the air, joining the light Pegasus' power had begun to create. In a few moments, the previously dark room was washed in the strange, ethereal light. It clustered around Pegasus, and on the intricately decorated casket.

They all watched, silent and unmoving. It seemed that the tension was so thick in the air that Yami forgot to breathe.

Then it happened. Swirls of magic began to envelop the box, lapping up the walls of the room, cascading down and around and all over them all. Bands of light and darkness began to creep inwards from every corner of the room, and Yami thought his ears were playing tricks on him; or was the darkness laughing…?

"Cyndia?" Pegasus' hand hovered just above the casket lid.

Everything seemed to rush towards the center of the room, and then, suddenly, every light in the room was snuffed out.

It was too dark to see. But somehow, the darkness started to pulse and shift and coalesce into something, something huge and definitely not human…

All of that power, every soul and sacrificed monster Pegasus had ever encountered was being brought back to form this creature. Instinctively, Yami reached for his deck. He summoned his own monster, followed shortly by Kaiba.

"Summoned Skull!"

"Blue-Eyes White Dragon!"

Kaiba's dragon shot a bolt of bright light through the room, briefly illuminating the space. It was headed directly for the dark figure, and for a moment it struck before deflecting to the side, blasting through a wall and sending a shaft of sunlight piercing through the chamber.

Kaiba turned his attention to Pegasus. "What have you done?" he growled, looking at the monster with revulsion. In the filtered light and dust from the shattered bricks, it looked twisted and deformed.

Pegasus shuddered. "I know its face… that's Relinquished—but a monster of my own creation? How is this possible?"

"It is your own creation because you did this, Pegasus!" Yami said, ordering his Summoned Skull to attack again. The monster carelessly knocked it aside, the attack curving upwards and striking at the ceiling. Bits of brick and mortar started to fall.

"No!" Pegasus was gone now, his mind completely focused on the woman inside the casket. "The magic, it backfired…Cyndia, please forgive me..." He clutched at it as parts of the ceiling came down around them.

The monster was huge, and only continued to grow and swell in shape, twisting outwards as it grew, looking sickly green in the dungeons of the castle. The Blue-Eyes White Dragon fired another attack; this one was deflected as well, breaking through another wall of the castle and sending bricks flying through the air. They could see parts of the island through the gaps.

"Drive it outside! If this building collapses, then we're done for!" Yami shouted, edging backwards.

"I don't suppose you've got any other brilliant ideas?" Kaiba said, reaching for his deck. They made it outside, and when the monster glided out into the sun, they could truly see it—it was blue-green, with a web-like structure around itself and a pit-like niche carved into its stomach which it had been using to deflect their attacks. It had humanoid arms, with talons for hands, but in place of a head was a single, golden eye that lolled to one side, studying them dispassionately. Yami's Summoned Skull attacked it again, but the blow seemed to barely strain the monster. They backed further into the fields bordering the castle, the monster gliding along towards them, following them.

"We need more power!" Yami said, looking at the monsters in his deck. Sending out any of the weaker ones would be pointless against their opponent.

"That's where I come in." Kaiba turned over the card on the top of his deck. "Blue-Eyes White Dragon!"

A second dragon appeared beside the first, roaring as they both attacked Relinquished in turn. It faltered, unable to deflect all of the attack.

Kaiba took another breath, summoning the next monster in his deck. "Blue-Eyes White Dragon!"

Now there were three of the dragons on the field between them and the monster, fiercely attacking the monster as one. A huge, crackling bolt of lightning shot across the field, directly striking the gold-colored eye. Kaiba looked smugly across the field. "Nothing could survive an attack like that."

Yami stood to the side, feeling rather useless as Kaiba monopolized the battle. But he had to admit, the three dragons looked magnificent. He was glad, not for the first time, that Kaiba was on his side.

The attack subsided, and they leant forward to see the damage Relinquished had taken. Smoke was starting to rise from the web surrounding the monster, and it moved forward with short, jerky movements—but still, it continued forwards, intent on overwhelming its opponents. The golden eye swiveled towards them, still staring; smoke curling up from its surface into the air.

Kaiba stared forwards in disbelief. That attack should have brought it down! He looked down at his deck… it had never failed him. Then why hadn't it worked…? He turned the top card over, realizing instantly that it hadn't failed him at all. He just wasn't finished yet.

"Polymerization!" He called, and the three dragons immediately started to move as if magnetically pulled together. Instead of three separate monsters now there was one, with three necks flaring out, its huge wings flapping in the air, sunlight glinting off of its silvery-white scales.

"Now bring it down!" Kaiba watched as it attacked again, the three separate beams of light converging on their target.

Yugi looked at his Summoned Skull, knowing that while the attack was fearsome, this monster appeared to be unstoppable. He needed to add his own power to the attacks. He drew his card, a crazy idea beginning to form in his mind.

In another flash of light, the Summoned Skull disappeared, replaced with one of the most powerful cards in his deck. "Black Luster Soldier!" Yugi shouted, urging his monster to add to the attack.

"I don't need your help," Kaiba said, watching as the Dragon pummeled the huge monster, only to have it continue on forwards, driven by a single-minded purpose.

"Kaiba, we have to work together! It's the only way we can beat this!" Yami gestured to the field. "There's one more thing we can try, but we have to do it together."

Relinquished continued to glide towards them, never stopping its relentless pursuit. "Kaiba, this isn't like the virtual, holographic monsters. If we don't beat this, nothing will. It can do real damage. Are you with me?"

Kaiba continued to face forwards, and if Yami wasn't paying attention he wouldn't have caught the slight nod that signaled that yes, Seto Kaiba was going to try teamwork to defeat this monster. What a hell of a last resort.

Yami had seen the way that Kaiba fused his own monsters together. It was a long shot, but maybe he could fuse his monster with them. The added power should be enough to destroy this monster once and for all. His soldier and Kaiba's dragon.

Beams of light burst from both his Puzzle and the Rod, illuminating the monsters in a shield of light. Then they merged, swirling together and re-forming anew. "Dragon Master Knight!"

He had to admit, it looked pretty cool.

The heads of the dragon snapped and roared; the monster was ready to charge at their opponent. Although now, instead of multiple monsters, they only had one. They needed to make their attack count.

The field was covered in light, the attack surrounding Relinquished and practically drowning it in light. From their position Yami could see the web surrounding it starting to crack. Then, in one movement it splintered down the middle, cracking open and leaving the monster defenseless. The attack swarmed in, encompassing and obliterating the monster.

It was gone. Destroyed, turned to dust. Yami let out a sigh of relief—it had taken that extra edge to destroy the unstoppable monster. It was a card he had never seen before, no doubt one unique to the game's creator. Such power was easily corruptible, and the power of his Item had turned it to life. Unfortunately, it hadn't been what he had intended.

Yami looked back towards the castle, a gaping hole on its southern side, bricks still tumbling away from its exterior. Pegasus would still be inside, no doubt still mourning. He could do what he liked, Yami reasoned, as long as he returned Anzu's soul first.

Besides, they still had their Dragon Master Knight. Just in case Pegasus had any other ideas.

* * *

Yugi flipped the pages of the newspaper, smiling to himself. The retractions that the _Domino Daily_ had published were plentiful—the previous day's paper had blamed the damage to the island on Yami, charging him with 'corrupting the game of Duel Monsters starting with both KC and I2,' going on to inconclusively prove how the island had become a testing site for new monster cards. Yet one small square in the bottom of the front page stood out to him amongst everything. The paper was offering a cash reward for anyone with information leading to Yami's true identity. Only one person knew that… and she was someone he trusted above all others.

He would be seeing her again later that night—happy and healthy and whole—he was taking her dancing. Yami might have originally caught her attention, but Yugi had a very firm hold upon her heart.

He looked up automatically as the bell over the shop door started to chime.

"Oh, it's _you_ again."

Shadi stood once again in the Game Shop, glittering key visible through the folds in his robe. "Yugi Moto, possessor of the Millennium Puzzle, you have done well."

"No thanks to you!" It was terrible customer service—he doubted Shadi would buy anything but it was still the principle of the matter—but Yugi pounded one small fist on the countertop. "You could have told me that there is a Spirit of the Puzzle who can control my every move if he ever wanted to! You could have said that there were others out there with Items—it seems that everyone associated with Duel Monsters has a Millennium Item!"

"There is a reason for that, just like all things," Shadi replied in his lilting accent.

Yugi waited, patiently, for a further explanation.

"The Items and the Cards share a history that stretches back to ancient times," he intoned. "A past that will only become more important with time. Be careful, Yugi Moto." He bowed slightly and then turned to leave.

"Wait!" Yugi called. "…Do you think you could go visit Seto Kaiba and give him a similar message?" He watched Shadi leave, smiling to himself at the idea of Kaiba's reaction to seeing Shadi in his office. For the first time in a long time, things were finally looking up.

* * *

The _Domino Daily_ newspaper was having a slow morning. Sometimes it wasn't even about reporting the news anymore; every article focused on Yami, the hero of Domino. Haga swiveled in his chair—what the paper needed was a fresh start. Maybe they could add a Sudoku to the crossword page.

A junior staffer timidly knocked on his door. "You'd better come see this," he said.

"What is it now?" Haga grumbled, stalking after the kid. He swore that nobody even sneezed without asking his permission first. When he turned the corner, any minor problems he had expected to see went screaming out the window upon seeing their real, up-close and very _un_-welcome guest.

Yami was surrounded by a group of giggling interns, attempting to answer all of their questions at once. Haga frowned. "Ryuuzaki, what are you doing?" The reporter sheepishly left the circle of admirers to stand beside his boss.

Yami tried to quiet down the crowded newsroom. "I believe you have some…letters, addressed to me?"

"Hmph." Haga went to the closest filing cabinet and yanked open a drawer. "We cleaned the office last week and threw out most of them, but here's what's left. Take it." He handed over a small bundle of envelopes tied together with string, glad to be rid of it.

"Thank you." Yami tucked the letters under one arm. "I'd better get back to work." He paused, a hint of a smile on his face. "Is that a balcony?" he asked, pointing across the room to a small terrace on the opposite side.

"Yeah, we use it for smoke breaks," Haga began, but Yami was already off, headed for the balcony. There was a flash of light and then a large golden dragon appeared, hovering near the railing. Yami effortlessly leapt onto it and flew away, the crowd of reporters cheering from the window.

"I really hate him," Haga said to Ryuuzaki as they watched him soar over Domino, "but you've got to admit, he's got style." He waited for several more seconds before shouting, "Get back to work, all of you!"

* * *

The End.

* * *

Omake (just so I can say that this story has some sort of representation of every challenge pairing this round :D):

Yugi and Anzu walked along one of the busier streets of Domino. It was a Friday night, and most of the people they passed that evening were couples or groups of friends out for a night on the town. They passed one couple, both with straw-colored hair, walking arm-in-arm.

Yugi and Anzu looked at each other, questioning. "Was that Jounouchi?" Yugi asked, recognizing his old school friend.

"Yeah, I think so!" she replied, twisting to look over her shoulder at the pair. "We should have said something! But hey, I didn't know he had a girlfriend!"

"Neither did I." They continued along and turned the corner.

Omake:

"What's that in the sky?" someone asked, stopping the usual morning rush of commuters. They craned their necks up, squinting to get a better view.

"Is that a bird?" another asked.

"No, it's a plane!" a woman shouted.

"No," a boy said, pointing up the sky. "It's a Blue-Eyes White Dragon!"

They all watched it soar through the sky, its destination the Kaiba Corporation tower at the center of the city. "…Is that Seto Kaiba up there?"

True enough, it was Seto Kaiba, beating the morning traffic in his own way. He looked down at the city beneath him as he soared across the sky. He could get used to this.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Finally, the sequel is posted! Gosh, I love this series :D There will be a third one (because every superhero movie becomes a trilogy), but who knows when that will see the light of day. But look for Shadi actually getting in the fight, and an epic massive showdown between the remaining series villain. And more mind-crushes. _Thank you_ for reading and _please_ review!


	12. The Haunted Mansion

Written for Tier 4 of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Fragileshipping: Yami YugixRyou. Smatterings of side pairings (read into everything~~~). Ridiculous crazy AU haunted house story.

* * *

"All human progress is in a circle; or, to use a more accurate and beautiful figure, in an ascending spiral curve. While we fancy ourselves going straight forward, and attaining, at every step, an entirely new position of affairs, we do actually return to something long ago tried and abandoned, but which we now find etherealized, refined, and perfected to its ideal."

—Hawthorne, _The House of the Seven Gables_

* * *

_The Haunted Mansion_

Far from the village, where houses huddled close to one another, hidden behind a grove of trees stood a large manor house. Grand, proud, and forgotten, it seemed with the years to become a part of the forest itself, blending into the dappled shadow of the full-leafed trees that hid it from the rest of the world. Like anything else unknown, wild, or just a little bit thrilling, they called it cursed and refused to have anything to do with it.

It was Ryou's secret then, that each afternoon when the animals were picketed and grazing in the fields outside the village he would take his lunch in the shadow of the old manor house. There was nothing wrong about it. He wasn't harming anyone, but at the same time Ryou hadn't told a soul about it.

He also hadn't told anyone about the person he saw in the house.

Sometimes it was for a moment; a silhouette in the upstairs window or a shadow on the porch. He had gotten a good look at him in the larger windows that looked out over what once was a garden—Ryou was certain it was a man, dressed in a dark coat—but for some reason he had ran away, getting the distinct feeling that while he played the observer, someone else was watching _him_.

He had better return home—it wouldn't do for him to be discovered. The whispers he could handle, but he had his own doubts about his father. Grief had driven a wedge between them, and while they were still bound together as family, the events of the past had changed him irrevocably. Ryou looked after him now.

Still, when the first of the trees began to shed their leaves Ryou thought of the house, and on cold nights where the moon shone in its stillness Ryou thought of its mysterious occupant.

* * *

"Ryou! You haven't been around in a while. How are you?"

Ryou answered the shop-owner politely, smiling at his grandson who came in from the back room, staggering under the weight of dry-goods bags far too large for him to carry. "Business has been slow," he said, stacking the bags in their place against one wall. "So I've been getting Grandpa to tell stories to pass the time."

"That sounds nice," Ryou said, leaning against the counter. He always liked this place; there was something about it that calmed him, made him feel at home. "Stories from when you were young? Or stories from your imagination?"

"A bit of both," he said after a while, ringing up Ryou's purchase of two sticks of hard candy. "Yugi, come over here and I'll finish the story." He tapped his finger against his chin, remembering the place where he had left off.

"Oh yes… the house in the woods. They say that it has gone to ruin, but I remember the tales from when it was first built. Took years to build; there were some problems with the workmanship, if I remember correctly, but that's another story. When I was young, I was sent to that very house. The occupant had refused to leave, and requested that I bring his order right to his door…"

.

Sugoroku made his own path through the fields, walking briskly towards the grand house. Lights flickered from each window; he hoped for a good fire to fight back the chill that had come early that year to the village.

He shifted the package of grain and produce in his arms. It was such an odd thing, for the master of the house to take to his rooms, but he didn't really care as long as he got paid for his trouble. Everyone had their own little secrets and whims, and it didn't take much to act on them.

He knocked twice on the door, and was lead inside by a cheerful young girl, who took the package from him and ushered him into a receiving room to wait for his payment. Alone, he took the chance to explore the room –what he had seen so far of the house lived up to the fantastic stories that he had already been told.

The floors were wood parquet, and when he looked down he could see his face reflected in the glossy surface. The furniture was so fine that no one would dare even use it; they would just stand and admire the general splendor. He had certainly never seen anything like it.

Sugoroku heard something coming from the next room over; he leant around the arched doorway and saw a figure prowling the room. His attention was torn between the various shelves and drawers built into one wall, and the crackling fire that cast the room in stark light and shadow. He's looking for something, Sugoroku realized, only before noticing that the strange man had also noticed him.

"Can I help you?" he asked, the languid movements of his body bringing to mind a coiled snake, dangerous when provoked. "I was just gathering my thoughts… beside the fire."

"There you are, Bakura!" It was the master of the house himself that had spoken, the wild points of his hair seemingly larger in the shadow that he cast on the wall behind him. "You're bothering our guest."

"Yes, because without hospitality, what do you have?" With a knowing smirk Bakura left the room.

Sugoroku took the money that he was given, counting it out in his palm. "This is quite a house," he said, if only for something to say. With his business complete there was no further reason for him to stay.

"My father bequeathed it to me—that is his portrait there on the wall." They both looked up at the painting, of a stern, regal man. He was dressed in a military jacket with gold fringe around the epaulets and kept his perfect posture despite the various medals pinned to the front. He had died in a recent campaign, and everything belonged to the man that stood before him, still standing in his father's shadow.

.

"After he shut himself up in that house, winter came, and a blanket of snow separated them from the rest of the village. No one ever saw any tracks leading to or away from the mansion, and in the spring, no trace was found of the house's occupants at all. They had vanished."

"No one ever saw them again?" Yugi asked, entranced by the story.

"They were gone. And no one has since lived in that house. No deed to the property was ever found, so even the land remained unsold." Sugoroku turned to Ryou then, a kind smile on his face. "What a story, right, Ryou?"

"Yes," he said, nodding his head. He wondered if he should come forward and tell them about the man he saw in the old house. They would believe him. "What a story."

* * *

Days passed, weeks passed, and even though Ryou continued to venture to the old manor house he never saw the man. Despite his efforts, he supposed that some things stayed hidden for a reason. Night had begun to creep up earlier and earlier, and when Ryou went to lead the animals back home for the night the sun had already dipped below the horizon.

A stray light at the corner of his vision stopped him, and he quickly turned around. Was it coming from inside the house?

Voices accompanied the torch, two of them. They were outside the house, not a part of it. That much was made clear when they sent several rocks crashing through the large lower windows of the house, shattering the glass. They would take its treasures with them.

With courage that he didn't know he possessed Ryou ran up to the house, shouting at them and waving his arms. The long shadow he cast was an advantage; it would make him seem bigger than he truly was. He watched with satisfaction as they ran—he had saved the house. He nearly thought of it as _his_ house—who else was there to claim it?

They had taken the light with them, but there was still light enough to see by, and Ryou carefully touched the broken window with his fingers, tracing the jagged outline. A crazy thought struck him: could he fit?

The hole was big enough for him if he helped it along a little; what was the harm in it if it was already broken? He'd fix it up himself in the following days to keep the animals out, but here was the opportunity to explore the house that he had heard so much about. Ryou wondered if this was its chance to speak for itself.

He crouched down and worked his way into the house. The glass crunched under his feet, and he drew the window covering back so he would be able to find his way back out. The curtain rustled from the outside breeze, and he figured that some fresh air would do the house some good.

He was in a hallway with dark carpeting and gold-flecked wallpaper. Long-unused lamps protruded from the walls at regular intervals and as Ryou began to walk down the hallway and peek into each room—a bedroom behind one closed door, a study behind another—he couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding. It didn't matter how much time had passed, it was still someone's home. If his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him all this time, someone _did_ still call this manor house home.

He crept up a staircase, his fingerprints leaving traces in the dust on the handrail, and explored similar rooms. He wanted to find the bedrooms of the people from Sugoroku's stories. When a man shut himself up in his room, what did he make of that space?

Ryou was surprised that, inside, he could still see—the curtains were pulled steadfastly across each window so even the sun's last light could not reach him. Even so, there was still light. He supposed that it was only his eyes becoming more accustomed to the darkness. He continued on.

That must be it—the last door at the end of the hall. Ryou's fingers found the handle of the door and he twisted, slowly, and opened it towards himself.

His shadow stretched out into the room first, then ebbed away at the edges as the lights were turned up just a little bit more.

_The lights—!_

"What are you doing in my house?"

The voice was haughty, proud but not unkind. Ryou looked down; afraid of what he might see when he met the man's eyes. There was only one shadow in the room.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped, backing up, curling his fingers into fists—what good it would do he didn't know, he had never before happened across… across…

"Don't apologize, you are my guest. I've seen you before. What is your name?" the man said, crossing the threshold of his room with the oddest smile Ryou had ever seen, if it could even be called that. He held his hands up, urging him to stay.

…Wait. Ghosts had manners?

"I'm Ryou," he said, swallowing. His throat had suddenly become so dry. "What is yours?"

The master of the house laughed, brushed a stray lock of hair behind one ear. He walked closer into the light. Ryou could see his dark coat with shiny silver buttons, yet there was something in the air around him that seemed to shimmer with his movements, as if he wasn't all there. "I don't remember," he said, allowing a bitter laugh to follow. "Isn't that the cause of all our troubles?"

"Come!" He took off down the hallway, beckoning for Ryou to follow. "I imagine you might have freed a few of the others in your…exploration."

They came to a small balcony that overlooked the main floor of the house. Below them a long table had been set up, dishes marking each place setting. Transient figures lingered around the table, and several had moved off to the side, twirling across the parquet floor. Ryou could hear their conversations and laughter, and joy began to stir up in himself at their happiness, and that he was able to help them. The house itself appeared more alive—the lights washed over each room, and if he listened attentively he could just make out the faint strains of music underneath everything else.

Ryou looked down, only then noticing the change that had taken place without him noticing. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling the thick material of his own dark coat give with the movement. A bit of lace peeked out at the cuffs and at his neck. His pants and boots looked brand-new, even though the style was old—not the threadbare cloth and leather he had been wearing before. He turned questioning eyes up to his host.

"There is a kind of magic in the house, just as there is in each of us—you too, I can feel it—and now you look just as we do."

Ryou was a little alarmed at being compared to the company of ghosts, but he allowed himself to be led down the stairs and towards the others. There were a thousand questions in his head that would bring about a thousand more, but it was enough to simply be sharing in something no one else had seen for nearly a century.

He was introduced to a chattering maid named Mana and his solemn tutor Mahaad, and several other members of the household in such rapid succession it made Ryou's head spin. He kept looking up, amazed at the dancing figures, of each swirling point of light, and then down at his own blurry-edged shadow and reflection in the wooden floors. It was like looking at two different worlds, and the fine edge between them.

"Ryou! Let's dance!" Before he had time to get a word in, Mana had taken him by the hand and pulled him to the middle of the throng of dancers. Her hand turned in his grip as she spun towards him. It was something like walking into the mist or fog at the earliest hour of the morning—he clearly saw her, and knew she was there, but there was still something unsettling in feeling her shoulder under his palm and grasping her hand in his other.

"We're all so grateful, Ryou—did you know that this is the first time we've been able to see each other since we were imprisoned in this house?"

Mana continued to chatter as they twirled. Ryou was no dancer—he often shied away from such activities because a part of him found it dull and the other part found it terrifying. He had practiced with Yugi several times when they were younger, to learn the hang of it, and that was about the most fun he had ever had dancing. That was just for practice, anyways.

"You opened nearly every door, right? I think I'd better see who else is here—everyone's probably made it out by now." She released him and waved someone else over. "You can take it from here."

Ryou turned to ask her just what she meant when two large, very masculine hands enclosed around his own, and he looked up into the smiling face of his host, the fringe of his hair nearly fell over his eyes but Ryou could still tell that all of his attention was entirely focused on _him_. "You're not serious."

"Just lead and I'll follow," he said, his foot automatically sliding back as Ryou's moved forward to fill the space it left behind. "Don't worry about anyone else. I'm the master of this house, I can order them to turn their backs and talk amongst themselves if it would make you feel better."

"No, that's alright," Ryou said quickly, turning them so he didn't have to look out to the crowd. True to his word, no one paid them much attention. "What happened here? What caused you all to become like this?"

"My father and his brother financed the construction of this house, and bought the rights to the land that surrounds it. They hired a group to build the house, and apparently something was found in the ground when they dug the foundation. That treasure was claimed by several people—the man who found it, the owners of the land, even the previous owner of the land. After that, misfortune struck at every turn. The house was said to be cursed—everyone associated with it began to die."

Ryou could barely think; he nearly steered them into another dancing couple. Was any treasure worth such sacrifice?

"Every mason and carpenter who worked to build the house was dead within a year of the house's construction. My uncle died the next year, on a military campaign. My father not long after that." He smiled enigmatically as they began to turn around each other. "The treasure is gone, hidden. Just as the deed to the house is gone. No one alive has ever seen them."

Ryou's heartbeat thundered in his ears, and not just because of the dance. Ghosts couldn't feel sweaty palms. A treasure that men had killed each other over, possibly hidden in this very house… and he could find it, if he wanted to.

"They're dead… but you all are still here," Ryou said, a hint of confusion coloring his words.

"We were part of that curse," he said. "Prisoners in this house, not dead but not alive either."

"But _who_ cursed you? You had to know."

"A thief," he said at last, drawing a step away from Ryou. "Someone I had once thought a friend."

"And not still? You value our friendship so little? It wounds me."

A man had appeared in the center of the room; the crowd making a wide circle around him. He walked towards them slowly, purposefully, and from the stories Ryou knew exactly who this man was. "Bakura."

Bakura stopped, making a show of studying them. "You know who I am," he said, "yet I do not know you."

"Bakura! What are you doing here?" It was the master of the manor house who had spoken, putting his body between them. "I'd say you deserve nothing less than death, but I'm not surprised to see you here."

"I'm no different than any of you—bound to this house, and quite unfortunately, to its master," he said, turning in place to survey the room. "But, unlike you all, I've been waiting for something."

"For what?"

Bakura grinned. "For an opportunity."

He surged forward, his goal not any of the men or women around him but to Ryou. He was drawn to that rapidly escalating heartbeat, and in the confusion his course did not waver. He honed in on his target and struck.

* * *

_What's going on?_

It felt like he was swimming through the air; his arms felt like lead.

"Nothing's going on. Go back to sleep. Be compliant just a moment longer."

That voice. It sounded familiar to him. _Bakura?_

"No. You're imagining things."

It was his own voice.

Ryou wanted so desperately to look down and see for sure if his shadow stretched out behind him but he could barely move his head. His arms were moving, and then his legs, and he could faintly make out his surroundings—everything seemed to have gotten dark again—but it wasn't himself that was controlling it.

He opened his mouth and screamed, and he heard his own voice laughing back at him. "I'll only need you for a moment longer. Then I'll set you free, I promise."

_Bakura! Let go of me! Get out!_

He felt himself continuing to move, rifling through drawer after drawer, closets and panels set into the walls. "You are in no position to argue," Ryou heard himself say pleasantly. "I could do any number of things to this body in this state, and it wouldn't hurt me at all."

Ryou summoned up all of the energy he could and _shoved_, and for one blissful moment the lights were brighter and less cloudy, but the murkiness returned just as swiftly. "I think I like you better with a little fight in you," he said, "but you're disrupting me from my work."

They went to the next room.

_You won't find the treasure._

"Who says that I'm looking for the treasure?"

_You're a thief_ was his response, a little uncertain but still strong. _It's what you do_.

He laughed. "I believe that when I find what I'm looking for, the treasure will be with it."

Each story swirled before him, told by different people that knew different things, in addition to what Ryou himself knew, and it took him a moment to find the answer. _You want the deed to the house. What do you want with it?_

"It's not important," was his answer. "In fact, it's so unimportant that it wouldn't matter if anything were to befall such a document. Paper is so fragile, after all."

Ryou remembered a story of a man, who searched a room in that house with the fireplace blazing, and years later had still not found what he was looking for.

They had made it back to that very room.

_You'll never find it. Everyone's killed each other over this house, and now you're as good as dead—even if you find it, it will be of no use to you_. Ryou tried to break free again but he was barely able to move a step.

"I think I've grown attached to this body. I quite like it." Bakura could feel his shock, and then his outrage. It was useless. "I'm a thief, Ryou," he said softly, like he was imparting a secret. "It's what I do."

"Ryou! There you are—" It nearly broke Ryou's heart to see him. He led the group of ghosts—they had stayed together, where Bakura was completely alone.

"Stay back!" Ryou had gathered enough of himself to shout it out, and the loudness of his own voice surprised them.

"You'd do well to follow his suggestion," Bakura said; now back in control, twisting Ryou's voice into something dark and ugly. "I know he wouldn't want to hurt you."

They all looked around the room at each other and not for the first time Ryou didn't know what to do. It seemed hopeless. The curse had its claws in them all, and there was no way to escape it.

…_It's him. The curse has always revolved around him, hasn't it?_

He took a step, faltered, and Ryou knew he was on the right track.

_He's the last of that family. If he dies, moves on, it will all be over—won't it? _

Bakura laughed, dark and low and mirthless. "But he won't. He can't."

_Because he doesn't know his name._

Ryou knew. He had to escape, had to push Bakura out.

_You did this. _

"You have it all wrong!"

_No I don't. You caused all this misfortune, nearly drove yourself into the grave in your quest for power—for what? _

"Stop!" he shouted, his arm moving on its own accord. He took one step, and then another. The crowd of ghosts looked on, waiting, in their own way, for an opportunity.

Ryou gave it to them.

The instant they could see Bakura again, his body shimmering back into existence, they swarmed around him. Ryou quickly looked around the room, his movements much lighter and sharper now that the weight of Bakura's posession had been lifted from him. He could see the ghosts crowding around Bakura, one in particular fighting against him, the cuffs of his dark jacket rolled up as they faced each other.

"You can't touch me!" Bakura taunted. "Remember, I was the one who taught you how to fight!"

"No you didn't," he said, smiling behind his upraised fists. "Mahaad did—"

Bakura turned to the left just in time to see Mahaad's fist connect against his cheek. The blow knocked him to the ground as the ghosts continued to swarm around him, holding him down and keeping him away from Ryou.

"If you're going to do something, now's a good time!"

Ryou turned back to the room, searching, putting together each piece of the story. It was this room, it had to be in this room. He stared hopelessly up at the picture of the family's patriarch, as if willing it to give him the answer.

...Could it be that simple?

Ryou's fingers scrabbled at the wood framing the portrait, he pressed and clawed at every inch of it, and finally seized the entire portrait and pulled it from the wall. He peered into the space that the portrait had concealed; there was something just beyond his reach. He lunged, and his fingers curled around a single sheaf of paper.

He held up the deed to the house and began to read, searching for the name that would set them free. Bakura leapt up and shook Mahaad away from him, intent on destroying the last remaining evidence of the family's name. He dove, reaching out his hands—

"Atem! That's your name!"

—and was knocked back by Atem, who had blocked Bakura's path to Ryou with his own body. "You have no more power over us," he said as Bakura's body began to fade. In seconds there was no trace of him left at all.

Mana came forward in the crowd, a wide smile on her face. "Ryou... you saved us," she said, and then she too was gone. Mahaad vanished not long after her, and then nearly all of the ghosts were gone.

Atem laid one hand gently on Ryou's shoulder. "Thank you."

"It was the least I could do," he said, smiling. This felt right. Not like walking through fog or mist, or swimming through the air, but natural, easy like breathing.

"I'd like to do one last thing before I go," Atem said, nodding to the parchment. "My family is gone, but this house can still be put to use. I'd like you to have it, but I just need to sign it in your name... may I?"

Ryou nodded.

A moment later he saw but didn't feel his arm move. He had picked up a pen and added a new line of handwriting at the bottom of the page, followed by a signature that did not match his own.

"There. That should do it." The voice was his but there was a warmth to it that Ryou did not find unwelcome. This was different than being posessed by Bakura. That was intrusive, malevolent, but this time Ryou was ready for it. "This house now belongs to you. I hope it treats you better than my family."

_...One last thing_.

"Yes?" They approached the nearest window and pull back the curtains. The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon, turning the sky pink and orange at the edges. Ryou could see and feel every thought that they shared, and knew how badly he wanted to feel the sunshine, grass, and a thousand other things, but also that one-hundred years was a long time to be denied anything, especially his right to move on. He had to let go.

_Say hi to Amane for me, will you?_

He relaxed, smiled. "Of course."

Just like that, he was gone, nothing more than a shadow in the back of his mind. He hadn't even said goodbye. Ryou looked down at the deed to his house. He supposed that after one-hundred years, waiting for them to meet again was no time at all.

* * *

"Are you sure it's okay to go into this old place?"

"I just told you the entire story, Yugi. Were you even listening to a word I said?"

They made their own path towards the old, proud manor house. The grass waved at their ankles, and as they looked up Ryou focused on one particular window, looking for a face or a shadow. Nothing.

He let them in—through the front door, though the hole in the window still needed to be fixed—and they made their way to the room that was the focus of so many stories. He wondered if there would be stories told about them.

"These were hidden along with the papers." They both looked into the small, dark opening. Each reached their hands out and pulled the objects closer from the back of the space. Both Yugi and Ryou looked at the golden items that they clutched in their hands, emblazoned with a stylized eye that winked back at them as the gold glinted in the light.

* * *

_The End._

* * *

Author's Note:

Alternate title: _I ain't afraid of no ghosts_ xD Main title taken from the Disney theme park ride (especially that one scene where the ghosts ballroom dance around in a fancy banquet hall)

This story idea was borne back when I was in seventh grade and was convinced I could draw. I would draw my stories instead of write them, and this one was one of my earliest (yay for haunted house/ghost stories!). The story got a bit more complicated with time (I adore _The House of the Seven Gables_, it's my go-to story of this genre), and suitably adapted to fit the challenge pairing, but it's fun to write those old stories. I recently found my old sketchbooks, and let's just say it's better now that I write than draw :D

Thank you for reading, and I value and appreciate your reviews!


	13. Arbitrage

Written for Round 3 of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Headdressshipping: Set x Mahad. It's something of a crossover/AU inspired by the anime series [C], so… AE characters in a Supernatural!High Finance!AU. Oh yes.

"Arbitrage"

* * *

Kisara was the only person at the line of ATMs, not surprising for the lateness of the hour. She was staring at the balance on the screen, the feeling of dread increasing as she rifled through the other cards in the slots of her wallet. There was only one more left to try, and she had promised herself that she would never use it.

The black-tinted, holographic card slid easily through the reader and she entered the code when requested, waiting patiently for them to come for her. The black taxi, unadorned save for a rippling logo that matched the pattern on the card, rolled up to the curb a moment later. The door opened for her, and she got in.

The leather seats were comfortable but Kisara barely noticed it. When she had first been given the card, they told her what would happen after she used it. She wasn't a fighter by any means, but she needed the money.

The taxi sped through the night, the streets empty of cars and pedestrians. If any had been there, coming home after a late-night shift, they might have seen the taxi as it turned towards the windowless brick wall of an office building, passing through it and vanishing as if it was never there. They might have seen Kisara, hands clenched tightly around the card and looking out of the window as if she wanted to memorize every detail of the city. They might not have seen anything at all, for the moment passed, and they were gone.

A different world existed on the other side of the wall. It wasn't possible to get there by any other means than the designated taxi, and was only available to those who had been invited. But like all things, this world came with a price.

"Welcome to the Financial District," the aging, gaunt driver said as the door opened. Kisara got out, turning around several times to take it all in. The road shimmered in hues of green and gold, and the buildings surrounding them—an imperfect replica of the streets of Domino—flickered something like the monitor of a computer screen. Occasionally, a trail of data would snake up to the green-colored sky like smoke, the strings of numbers curling in on themselves until they scattered apart. Her eyes were drawn to a large display set against the sky in the shape of a coin, in which a large number continued to grow, prefaced by the currency that drove this entire world: ¥. Next to all of this, the taxicab looked archaic.

"Glad to see you could make it." The envoy of the District materialized in the air beside her, making an elaborate bow at his newest customer. "Saggi, at your service. Your opponent will be coming to you, and the duel will take place right here."

She waited with the man—his jester's outfit and face makeup hardly stood out amongst their strange surroundings—studying the street that would be the site for their duel. Beyond them, it was completely empty, more a façade than anything else. Patches of the bricks and glass flickered in and out, revealing the data that they were built from. It was as good a place as any.

She could see her opponent approaching—an older man with a fearsome, dark-caped Duel Monster beside him.

The wall of one of the buildings morphed into a timer and two counters, one for each of their account balances. The Duel began once the countdown started.

"Shadow Magus! Attack her!"

Kisara ran, still holding desperately onto her card. She had a Duel Monster as well… why wasn't it trying to help her? She swiped it through the air, the shimmering outline of a large, white dragon appearing in the street, but it was too late. The monster was already on her.

She screamed, clutching her chest as spots of red, numbers and flickering ¥ poured from her body, scattering in the sky. The display in the sky continued to rise, her money adding to that queue. Kisara whispered, "Blue-Eyes…" before it attacked again, and then it was over. There was another total, her total, which was quickly counting down to zero.

She should never have accepted their offer; she should have ignored the strangely-dressed clown that knocked on her door that day…then this never would have happened. But she needed the money. At the end of the day, it was all about the money.

* * *

"It always plays out the same. People are greedy—they'll take the money. Just watch."

"Why must you always assume the worst of people?"

"And why should you assume the best? Sometimes you can be worse than Mahad."

Set scowled, playing right into his mentor's hand. There was no surer way to mold him to the darker realities of this business other than bringing up the Chairman, but Akhenaden rarely spoke to him beyond what was necessary. Set hardly blamed him—working under someone half his age took a certain kind of compassion, but one didn't become a board member of the most successful company in Domino without some ambition.

"All right, fine. I'll see to it."

Set came back to his apartment late that night. It was a large open box of a space that looked glossy and perfect but hardly lived in, which suited his tastes just fine for now. There would always be time to make changes in the future.

He had barely shrugged out of his suit jacket when he heard the knock on the door. Set ignored it, hanging up the jacket and loosening his tie. The knocking came again a second later, loud and insistent.

Frowning, he reached for the doorknob, twisting it open to reveal an empty hallway.

"Why hello, Set." Materializing in his living room, the clown gave another elaborate bow, one hand on the brim of his pointed hat to keep it steady.

"How did you—?"

"Details." From the middle of the apartment the clown shrugged, smiling conspiratorially at him even as Set kept the door propped open, clearly motioning for him to exit through it. "Don't be so hasty to dismiss me just yet. My name is Saggi, and I have a deal for you."

Set barely skipped a beat. "You sneak into my apartment in the middle of the night to tell me this? I'm in that business, and nothing about this deal sounds tempting."

"Not this business." Saggi grinned, his yellow eyes gleaming. It wasn't exactly a look that inspired confidence.

"I'm a representative of the Bank of Midas…I'm not surprised that you haven't heard of us. My offer is simple –you give us your future as collateral, and in return, you gain access to the Financial District."

"What's there?"

The cosmetics made his grin look even wider. "Money. We give you money, and you have the ability to earn much more. Every week, each of our clients is matched up against another, and if you win your duel then you will continue to gain."

"And if I lose…?"

"If you go bankrupt, then your future is also lost. It can mean something different for each person." Saggi shrugged, casually floating into the air, tucking his legs underneath him as if he was seated on an invisible chair. "We recently had a vacancy, and you have been randomly selected as her replacement. What do you say?"

He was distracted by a bright light that was coming from the hallway beyond his apartment; still keeping the door propped open with his foot, he pivoted around, momentarily speechless by the plain black taxicab. There was hardly any room around it. "There's a car in the hallway."

"Is it there already?" Saggi vanished, reappearing again in the air over the car, before floating upside-down to open the rear door closest to Set. "Well then. Step inside, please."

Curiosity won out, and against his better judgment Set slid into the cab, finding Saggi already seated inside. A light on the top of the cab switched on, and the elderly driver began to move the car smoothly down the hallway, chuckling to himself.

"Where are we going?" Set could clearly see where the hallway dead-ended; it seemed to him that the cab was going even faster.

The cab driver continued to chuckle. "The Financial District."

"Wait—I didn't agree to this!"

A moment later the car vanished through the wall, reappearing in a world that mirrored what he left behind. The car barreled down a wide road of rainbow colors, coming to a stop at a small square where a handful of people were lounging. He could see flickering forms beside each person; most were more human-like but several were animals—he saw a huge, white wolf and a giant metallic automaton.

"Welcome," Saggi said, smoothly opening the door and ushering Set out of the cab. It sped away, disappearing through another wall.

"First things first—your card." Set accepted the holographic silver card, emblazoned with the logo of the Bank of Midas. He didn't appreciate being tricked; he should have been smarter than that. His own company had its share of fine print. Akhenaden's words were at the front of his mind as he studied the card. Most people would take the money, live for the present. Well, he had a future and he wasn't about to let them have it.

The shimmering shapes on his card combined into the figure of the Duel Monster that was meant for him. Saggi told him to swipe it through the air and so he did, a winged warrior materializing before him. He had dark armor including a helmet that obscured most of his face but carried a large, threatening-looking sword.

"Duos…" Saggi said, motioning towards him. "A client's Duel Monster is the representation of their future that was entrusted to us. During your duels, they will only attack when commanded. You or your opponents are also welcome to attack directly." He giggled, clapping his hands together in anticipation.

Set realized that much of the crowd in the plaza seemed to be watching him, whispering about him and Duos. He saw money exchanging hands several times.

"I'd escort you to your first opponent, but here he comes now." A young boy with light green hair was walking confidently towards them, a large spider floating at his side. "Good luck!"

"This will be an easy win—you newcomers always go bankrupt right away," the boy said, adjusting his glasses. A timer emerged on one side of the building alongside two meters representing each duelist's account balance. Set couldn't help but notice how much smaller his meter was.

The duel started. With the timer ticking down each second, the boy quickly sent his spider forward. It shot out strands on either side of them, building a web with Duos at its center. Cut off on all sides, they couldn't escape.

"Direct hit!" His opponent had run into the battle, swiping his card to form a knife. He arced it down towards Set, stopping only when Duos lunged in-between them.

"Duos, attack!" Set swiped his card, noticing a portion of his own money disappearing to power the attack. Trapped by his own web, his opponent took the strike straight-on. The other meter fell as his balance inched upwards.

"Attack again! Don't stop!" Duos continued to slash with his sword, streams of money and data flowing around them with each successive hit. Set couldn't even see his opponent any longer through the haze of flickering red numbers. He heard him cry out but Set couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until the other meter dropped down to zero.

Set watched as the spider vanished, the red data scattering into the air until he could no longer see it. Saggi gently tapped the boy on the arm, ushering him into the waiting cab. His silvery-grey card, broken into pieces, lay at Set's feet. He couldn't get that image of the boy out of his mind—his mouth open and eyes wide in disbelief. He couldn't stop trembling. If his future was gone, then what would happen to him?

Everyone was staring at him, watching him as he called another taxi and left, the car racing away from the shimmering town. He didn't know what was worse—the reality that any victory was at another's expense or the knowledge that Akhenaden would have been proud of him.

* * *

"Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Set said, waving away the intern's offer of refreshment. He didn't know why Mahad had hired the girl—she was dedicated but very clumsy; the last time they had met she had spilled hot coffee all over him.

"That will be all, Mana." Mahad sat behind his desk, motioning for Set to take the chair closest to him. Mahad had all of the window-blinds pulled up, filling his office with natural light—it was something that always caught Set's attention when he was there. His office was clinical, designed solely for maximum efficiency, and if he were to believe Akhenaden it was far too small for his position in the company. "What brings you here? If Akhenaden sent you, tell him that I emailed him my report several hours ago—"

"It's a personal visit," Set said, leaning back into the leather chair. "I have a question I want to ask you…just a hypothetical question. If, in a given system, the only way to succeed is at the expense of someone else…would you say that the system is wrong?"

"Set, you just described life." Mahad steepled his fingers on the desk, tapping them softly together. "Every action has reactions, even unintended ones."

"No, I meant…" Set frowned. He couldn't stop thinking about the Financial District. It was an unknown, something new to him, and that always made him uneasy. "If the stakes were higher. Living, at the expense of someone else's life. Having a future, at the expense of another's."

"Where one must gain, and one must lose?" Mahad looked sharply at Set, studying him. His hair made portions of his face appear shadowed despite the sunlight streaming in through the window. "Yes…I would say that system is wrong. But I think people are more connected than that…one person's future could affect their family, their friends. Perhaps even people they would have met in the future. Those stakes _are_ very high."

Set looked coolly right back at him. "This is all, of course, hypothetical."

"Naturally."

* * *

When Set stepped out of the taxicab on his next visit to the Financial District—not to duel, but simply to explore—Mahad was waiting for him. Before Set could get a word in, Mahad had already greeted the driver like old friends, closed the door and guided Set towards a vacant corner of the plaza.

Away from the curious eyes and ears of the other clients, they were able to talk freely. Set had been considering the possibility that someone might recognize him, but until that moment he hadn't thought to find someone he knew here.

"It's only your second time here?" The corners of Mahad's lips twitched upwards into a thin smile. "Saggi came for me six months ago. I don't regret agreeing to come here—the money can be used to give countless others a strong future, but like I said then the stakes get higher."

"So, even if the system is flawed, you can still work inside it—"

"To achieve something good, yes," Mahad said, smiling. "I'm scheduled to duel today. Why don't you watch; that will give you a much better idea of my goals."

From a balcony overlooking the street Set had a perfect view of the match. A handful of other people had the same idea, watching as the duel started. Several were placing bets. It wasn't hard to notice the consensus that Mahad was the crowd's favorite to win.

He was surprised at how close the match was—Mahad spent the majority of the time dodging each attack, making sure that every time he was hit he would repay back the same amount. It was carefully orchestrated, every part of the match was planned, down to the final seconds. In the end, he won by a single percent.

"It's about minimizing risk," Set whispered, watching the match. What happened here had an impact on the real world—a profound impact, depending on the player. He understood that now. Looking back and forth between his own Duos and Mahad's Illusion Magician, he couldn't help but wonder just what he represented about his friend's future.

* * *

"Go! Duos!"

There were ten seconds left on the timer, barely enough time to make a final attack. Duos unfurled his wings to fly down the street, racing towards his unguarded opponent—but that move had left Set unguarded as well.

The throwing stars of his opponent's Duel Monster hit him in the arm and shoulder. The pain lanced through his entire body, immobilizing him, silencing him—he couldn't urge Duos to attack faster, he could barely focus on anything beside the pain. Set clutched at his shoulder, oozing streams of red data, and clenched his teeth just to keep from crying out.

He had lost a duel.

The timer and counters vanished, the red data gradually faded away, but the pain lingered. He hadn't lost by much—it would take much more than that to bankrupt him—but it was still a loss. Before he knew what he was doing Set had called a taxi to leave the Financial District. He had to know that everyone around him was all right. He had to know what had changed because of his loss.

The taxi burst through one of the walls of his company's parking garage. It skidded to a stop, tires squealing, and Set was out in an instant, running towards the bank of elevators that would take him to his office.

His codes and keys still worked—at first his panic had been that his job would be taken from him. The elevator started to rise, stopping only at his floor, and when the doors opened he sprinted down the hallway. The only thing on his mind was the sunlit office at the end of the hall.

Mahad was at his computer when Set burst in, startling Mana who dropped a carton of paper clips all over the floor. Mahad was instantly on his feet, gently sending Mana on an errand before shutting the door behind her. "What happened?" he asked, his expression grave.

For a moment Set thought he could still feel and see the wounds on his arm and shoulder. "I—I lost." He said it almost as a whisper, as if he could barely think it, let alone say it aloud. He was Set—the youngest board member of the entire company. He was responsible for so much. Set didn't lose.

"It's okay," Mahad said, pulling him across the floor littered with paper clips and into a chair, pulling up another one close beside him. "I'm okay, and you're okay. I'm glad that you told me… thank you." He tried to smile, but even with the sunlight Set couldn't get over the feelings of dread.

"…Have you lost?"

"Twice: once was early, when I was first starting out so there wasn't much to lose. I lost another duel about a month ago—the matchups are random, and my opponent was very strong—as a result, one of the charities I set up using the money I'd gained vanished. The money had gone to schools here in Domino…I don't want to know how many futures my actions had affected." He looked over at Set; he had barely said a word but to Mahad, maybe that meant that he just wanted to listen.

"The future that the Bank of Midas uses as collateral can mean something different to anyone. If you lose money in a duel, that often means that what you've spent in this world vanishes. It can affect your home, family, career…but those who aren't duelists won't ever notice that there's been a change." His gaze hardened; with all of the good that he was able to accomplish there were times when he hated this game. It was a deal with the devil with the future on the line, and he was foolish to think that he could best them all.

"I'm not only fighting to protect the people close to me, but for the future as well…I'm not about to let them just take it from me." Mahad extended his hand to Set; after a moment he took it, clasping his fingers tightly with his own.

"Not just for our own future, but for everyone's." Their futures were all connected, and like a wave the smallest force could send them all tumbling down.

* * *

"You know how important this project is!" Shimon's voice sounded unusually loud in the board room. At the very least, he had waited until they were alone before confronting him. "Our stock has been slipping, so we need to keep the confidence in our company strong! I'm very disappointed in you, Set. I expected better."

Set, still seated at the table, nodded contritely. He hated having this mark on his record—he'd been nothing but devoted to the company—but he didn't want the other board members to worry. Shimon in particular, who was one of the few employees who had served on the board with the previous chairman. He was getting too old to be worrying about him.

He looked up when Shimon left to see Akhenaden come in to the room. He pulled out the chair beside him—the head chair, Set noticed, rather than the others that lined the long table like a picture frame. "I can tell that I don't have to say anything," he said, looking sternly over at his protégé. "I know you're a very smart and capable young man. This isn't like you…is there anything going on in your life that we should be aware of? You know you can trust me with anything."

Set had always admired and respected him. Akhenaden had always been there for him, since he had first joined the board, guiding him through their policies and intricacies without ever asking for anything in return. All the same when he looked at him, seated at the head of the table as if he belonged there, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. "There's nothing going on. I promise I won't disappoint any of you again."

He quickly stood up and left the room. Akhenaden had always been very perceptive, and he didn't want him to ask any more questions that he wouldn't be able to answer. Besides, he had a visit to the bank to make.

* * *

The black taxicab barreled down the shimmering road towards the main plaza of the Financial District.

"How's that for fast driving?" The taxi driver said, grinning.

"Thanks to you, we're early." Set stepped out of the car, card in hand. Duos shimmered in the air beside him as he walked, searching for the best place to watch the match. He wanted to watch Mahad's duel before he had to compete in his own.

Weaving through the crowd, as well as around their Duel Monsters, Set found Mahad waiting in the middle of the street, his Illusion Magician at his side. Above them all, Saggi twirled in the air.

Across from him, in the place where his opponent would stand, was his mentor, Akhenaden.

The crowd seemed to shrink backwards as if they could sense the strength of the two duelists, allowing Set to push through the last of the crowd. "Mahad! Did you know that he was one of us?"

Mahad turned to him, nodding. "Yes. And I know that he'll try very hard to bankrupt me. You see, he wants part of my future for himself."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here?" Set asked.

His face was like stone and his voice was like ice. "Why didn't _he_ tell you?"

Cautiously, he turned towards his mentor. The timer began to form on the wall, flanked on either side by two counters. The numbers on each were staggering.

"It's all for you," Akhenaden said, swiping his card through the air. A fiend in a dark cape materialized beside him. "Set, everything I have done is for your future. Your future, and my legacy… the company will be legendary, with you at its helm.

Horrified, Set could only watch as the duel began.

Immediately Mahad launched his attack, the Illusion Magician darting through the air and swiping at Akhenaden with his staff. He continued forward, seizing each opportunity to strike. The balance meters inched back and forth for every attack .

" Shadow Magus! Attack!"

"Illusion Magician—use magical hats!"

The street was filled with smoke, the data billowing out and clouding the battle from view. When it cleared, Set could see three brightly colored hats, hiding the Magician from Akhenaden's attack. The strategy made sense—Mahad was trying to buy time. Minimize risk. In his own way, Mahad was trying to protect him.

But without his Duel Monster Mahad became vulnerable. The Shadow Magus' next attack was a direct hit and he fell to the ground, clutching at his stomach. Bursts of red data fell to the ground beneath him as he staggered to his feet, fierce determination in his eyes. "Use Dark Magic Attack!"

From the middle hat, a bolt of energy raced across the sky towards the Shadow Magus, scoring a direct hit. With the timer winding down, Mahad's counter crawled upwards.

Akhenaden swiped his card through the air, taking the majority of his own money into his next attack. "Now that we know where he is, attack, quickly!"

The blast decimated the entire street; the numbers swirled through the air and up into the display set against the sky in the shape of a coin. The amount was still increasing, but slowly, the currency flickering every now and then as it settled into place.

"You're bankrupt," Akhenaden sneered, savoring his victory. Already Saggi was floating back down towards Mahad.

"One last thing," Mahad said, swiping his card through the air. "Set—I'm giving you my Illusion Magician. It represents my future, so I hope you'll treat it well." Set looked at his card, noticing the shifting holograms had subtly changed into two discrete shapes. Before he could say anything else Mahad was getting inside the taxi, leaving the Financial District for the final time. He had left his card behind, now broken into several pieces.

The coin display was still for one moment before the numbers started to dip. Set could hear the other duelists whispering to each other. Even Saggi in his clown makeup looked pale. Set could already imagine the wave of connections starting to be pulled under, the money vanishing. It made him angry just to think about it.

"You'd place your own future above everyone else's?" He hadn't seen it until then, but the Shadow Magus matched Akhenaden's future precisely. Dark, threatening, unstable. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Set, you disappoint me. I thought I'd taught you better than that. Nothing can be gained without loss. Now, when you become the Chairman—"

"I swear to you, I'll quit unless you duel me right now," Set said, sliding his card; both monsters flickered into focus behind him. "I'm going to take you down."

"You can't duel me!"

"Actually, he can," Saggi said, floating upside-down in front of Akhenaden. "I have it all right here. The randomly selected match-ups have you two scheduled to duel." He grinned at them both, winking one eye that was painted with cosmetics to look like a star. "The rules are rules."

The counters and timer shimmered into sight once more. The duel began.

"You'd sacrifice everyone's future for your own gain!" Set motioned for both to attack, swiping his card as payment. A beam of lightning lit up the street as the Magician attacked, the resulting explosions rocking the street. "You're the real monster!"

He kept his attacks directed only at the Shadow Magus—Mahad hadn't caused him any pain despite Akhenaden not sharing in that philosophy. He barely gave him a moment to recover before the next attack struck. "Mahad and I are going to take back Domino's future." Duos darted in front of the Magician, taking an attack meant for him. In a whirlwind of numbers and data, they attacked again. "Because that future is precious to me now, and I want to protect it."

It only took one more strike to defeat him. Bankrupt, his Midas card cracked in two, Saggi wasted no time in ushering him into the back of the taxicab.

He brushed his hands together enthusiastically, floating over towards Set. "Would you look at that," he said, grinning. Together they looked upwards at the display; the numbers were starting to rise again, faster and faster. "It's just good business, you know," he continued. "We deal in futures, and brighter is better."

"I figured as much." Set smiled a little as another cab came racing back for him. Saggi grinned as he opened the door of the taxicab, making another elaborate bow as Set got in.

"It will be brighter than you've ever imagined. The future, that is."

He shut the door and vanished, his smile the last thing that Set could see. He settled back into the leather seat, ready to feel the sunshine on his skin. He caught the gaze of the cab driver in the rearview mirror and smiled.

"Take me home."

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I highly recommend the anime series [C] -that's where the Financial District and the Bank of Midas are taken from. In that anime, characters have 'deals' with their 'assets' but it still looks an awful lot like Yu-Gi-Oh duels xD The character of Saggi the dark clown is inspired by a similar character in the anime. Set's first opponent is meant to be Insector Haga.

Review if you love Set and Mahad in business suits :D


	14. Devil May Care

Written for Round Four of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Bribeshipping: Mai Valentine x Rex Raptor. Supernatural/Humor story, hints of other pairings, kind-of a silly AU…because I don't think I've ever done my version of the 'demon' AU story :D

"Devil-May-Care"

* * *

For Rex Raptor, Domino could be just about as lonely as any other place. The evening storm had just turned into mist, and he pulled the brim of his hat further down over his ears as he crossed the street. It made for a poor shield against the rain, but sometimes it helped more just to have something to do.

The rain had driven everyone inside. He could see them, dancing and laughing, full of life and heat and joy. Rex caught his reflection in the windowpane and lingered for a moment before his breath could fog the glass. By comparison, he looked like a wet cat.

Somewhere in Domino, Weevil Underwood was celebrating his victory. Sure, he was repulsive, but there were plenty of people willing to eat and party on his tab. Not Rex—he had _some_ standards—but he could think of a few people who wouldn't pass up the opportunity to meet the new Duel Monsters Champion. This city was all about dueling anyways—by morning, everyone would know his name. But nobody would remember the guy who came in second.

His commute home led him through a children's park, completely deserted given the hour and the weather. Beside the sandbox and swing set was a large, ornate fountain dedicated to the park's sponsor—there was hardly a piece of property in Domino that _didn't_ have the Kaiba Corporation logo on it—and, absentmindedly, Rex fished through his pockets and tossed a coin in with the others, getting a little satisfaction from the way it clinked off against the KC and into the basin.

"What I wouldn't give to be on top for once," he whispered, the words slipping out as if from the spout of the fountain, tumbling deeper and deeper still once they were free. "To be cool, to be liked. To be the winner. I'd give anything…"

"Anything? Does that include, say… your soul?"

A woman stepped out from the other side of the fountain, trailing her fingers just above the water's edge as she approached him.

"You said you wanted to make a deal, so here I am," she said, impatiently crossing her arms. Rex didn't hear a word of it—he still hadn't progressed from looking into hearing just yet. If he'd have known she was a part of the deal, he would have changed his request.

"…The Devil is a woman?" Stranger things had happened. Hell, he'd lost the match to Weevil—meeting the devil was par for the course around here.

"No…I'm his assistant, Mai Valentine." She frowned, fluffing her hair, and Rex realized that while it was still raining softly around the park, the area around them was completely dry. "I take the jobs nobody else wants."

"Well, you must want me," Rex said, mustering up some bravado—their conversation was like any of his card games, where he just had to convince her that he held the better hand. "Or else you wouldn't have come here."

"We've been in a dry spell lately, so we'll take what we can get." In one hand was a single piece of paper with writing on both sides and in the other, a standard hotel pen. "You said you wanted to be a winner. You want people to like you. Read and sign, and everything will be yours."

"And the catch…?"

Mai pursed her lips, insulted. "The _price_, not the catch. I'll check in on you to make sure every item on your list is completed. And then, in time, we'll collect your soul as payment. It won't negate your terms of the deal, of course—you'll still have those." He was struck with the image of a Duel Monsters card, but instead of a monster his image was printed on the paper. "What will it be? We don't have all night."

He took the paper. As he signed his name across the bottom, all he could think about was the look on Weevil's face when he'd be the winner. Oh yes. He wanted this.

* * *

The knocking came early the next morning, loud and insistent. Rex slouched to the door, sidestepping stacks of books and the occasional takeout carton to find Mai Valentine waiting on the other side. "…You're real. I—I wasn't sure if it was all a crazy dream, or—"

He held the door open for her and she slipped inside. "The funny thing about dreams is sometimes they're the only place you'll admit what you truly want." Looking up into the clearing that was the living room, Mai stopped, shaking her head at Rex. "_This_ is where you live?"

The furniture was old and worn, surrounded by an impressive library of books and video games, with the odd dinosaur action-figure garnishing each mound. There was an old cardboard box next to Rex's feet, and if he'd taken another step Mai was sure she'd hear the crunch of packaging peanuts left in the matted carpet. The single ceiling light cast everything in a sickly glow.

"Wow. Let's do us both a favor," Mai said, turning around in a circle. As she spun the room quickly began to change—the trash disappeared; the books vanishing behind built-in bookshelves and cabinets. The furniture was gone, replaced by a modern leather sectional and two red arm-chairs. The kitchen counter stretched outwards into a bar, and when Rex turned around, a hastily-grabbed armful of dinosaurs and Duel Monsters cards clutched to his chest, he found that the old television had become a wall-mounted flat screen. It wasn't the most masculine room, but at least one good thing had come from it.

"My room…" Rex dropped the figurines into one of the chairs, half-expecting the whole thing to vanish again before his eyes. "You… you—"

"Thank me later," Mai said, relaxing into the couch. "My powers don't allow me to change anything for my exclusive benefit, but I just couldn't work with what you had. No wonder you needed my help, I'm surprised it took you this long."

Rex cautiously opened a new closet door that had appeared in the transformation, an avalanche of his old stuffed animals raining down on his head and arms. They were fairly soft, but the spikes of his stegosaurus landed right on his nose, bouncing down to a perfect landing on the wooden floors. "_This_ is helping?"

It only occurred to him then that she could have just vanished all of his collection entirely, instead of storing it like she did. He wondered what Mai collected.

"Take off the hat."

He did, unconsciously smoothing the top of his hair. "I'm not getting rid of it." It was non-negotiable. He liked his hat.

Mai sighed. "Fine, put it back on. Maybe it will keep some of that stupid from leaking out."

"Then maybe I should give it to you." Rex moved to the other end of the couch, surprised at how soft the fabric was. He raised one eyebrow, a little pleased at getting her to stop talking. She could dish it out, but he didn't think that Mai was the type to lose anything easily. He was used to that, but that didn't mean that he liked it. "Look, I didn't sell my soul to the devil for nothing. I asked for you to help me—I don't remember asking for your condescension."

He saw it in her eyes. For the first time, she was considering him as more than just a name, or a collector, or a hat. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a neat stack of Duel Monsters cards. "All right," Mai said, shuffling the deck, "let's see what I have to work with."

Rex gathered his own cards, the familiar thrill of dueling creeping down his arms and into his fingers. He pulled a chair up to the other side of the coffee table and they started to duel.

It was a very short match—in no time at all Mai had almost obliterated his life points, when he started to pick up an unusual scent hovering in the air. It was a strange mixture, somewhere between roses and coffee, and as he concentrated on the scent Mai drew her next card, a shrewd smile letting him know that she had known all along which card was at the top of her deck. That turn was all it took for her to win, her Harpie Ladies taking out his last monster.

"Are you smelling that, too?" Rex asked, scrunching up his nose. It was true that his apartment had never been _this_ clean before, but it still seemed an oddly focused and particular scent. He supposed he wouldn't put it past Mai to hide an air-freshener somewhere. Accidentally knocking several of her cards off of the table, he leaned down to pick them up, getting a wave of citrus-scented air coming not from the room but from the cards itself.

"You perfumed your cards?" He grabbed a few more from her deck, holding each one up to his nose. Pine forests, peppermint, chocolate…the last one was scentless, but when he turned it around it was nothing, a throwaway card.

"Isn't it impressive?" Mai smirked. "I'll always know which card I'm about to draw next, or even the ones in my hand without even looking. It's as if I have psychic powers—and I've already predicted my own victory."

Rex leaned back into the chair; now that he recognized them the scents were everywhere, wafting and floating around her cards, and it gave him a headache. "You can do what you want, I don't care," he said, "but when I win, I'll win fairly."

He began shuffling his deck again. He wasn't that naïve to think everyone played to the spirit of the game—he had heard stories about how Seto Kaiba had bullied the world into surrendering the legendary Blue-Eyes White Dragon cards, and he knew that Weevil Underwood played dirty—but he didn't want a hollow victory. He could be just as ruthless an opponent as any of them. "Let's play again. I won't stop until I can beat you."

* * *

It was over a week later that, in a fantastic string of lucky draws—his Red-Eyes Black Dragon being the first among many to escape her numerous magic and trap cards—Rex finally won his first duel against her. Rex looked across the table as she set her cards down, life points at zero, half-expecting her to be angry at him, or to get up and leave, and was relieved to see her smiling, if only for her own sake. "I should have just surrendered, I saw it coming two turns ago," she said, stealing back just a little of his victory.

He threw a pillow at her.

* * *

"To be cool, you have to learn how to cook," Mai said as soon as she came in to his apartment, tossing a bag of groceries at him that he barely caught. "Now make me something, I'm starving."

The look on her face when she took the first bite of extra-spicy noodles made it all worthwhile.

* * *

He'd never seen this poster before. He figured that Mai must have filled in the blank wall between the windows one day when she was going through all of his extra cards from the booster packs he'd opened, and when he asked her about it—he wasn't exactly timid around her to begin with, but he had to admit she made for far better company than Weevil—she shrugged it off, getting ready to duel him again. They were both getting better.

"Dueling _is_ cool. Is there anyone who lives here who isn't a duelist? It's practically a requirement."

He pretended to ignore her, but it struck him that the picture of the Red-Eyes Black Dragon was the first personal thing she'd given him. It wasn't a dinosaur, but it was his, and he'd take it.

* * *

Rex was dreading the day she decided to go through his wardrobe—he had gone through it already and rescued his favorite clothes, hiding them in the closet with his dinosaur figurines—but Mai had been hinting about it every now and then.

"If you want people to like you, you can't repel them with bad fashion choices," Mai said, holding one outfit by the tips of her fingers. "Seriously, what even is this? It's a vest that goes over a jacket…?"

Rex stayed silent, willing her to do her worst. In this arena, he'd pick his battles—as long as he could keep his hat, he didn't care. Rex Raptor looked good in everything.

"Let's try this—purple, to match your ridiculous hair." Mai snapped her fingers, and his shirt color softened to a faded purple, the collar smoothing out into a regular rounded neckline. The wash of his jeans changed along with the fit.

"Watch it!"

She sighed, snapping again and a belt wrapped around the looser-fit pants. The untied laces of his shoes knotted together, and he raised his arm to admire the silver-toned watch. "Silver for second-place," Mai explained when she saw his expression. "When you're the Champion, it will turn gold."

He supposed he could get used to this—his arms felt cold without his usual layers of jackets, but he had to admit that Mai was a good stylist. Of course, there were a few changes she could make to her own wardrobe. He would have suggested that she lose the jacket as well, but knowing Mai she would see right through that.

* * *

It was a combination of confidence, restlessness, and two pocketfuls of loose change that pushed him to give his new look a test-drive that weekend. The arcade was packed, people crowding around the dance platforms and two-person shooters. He liked the strategy and adventure games best; those were the ones he was good at, and by coincidence he was able to snag a machine to himself in a less raucous corner of the arcade. He put some coins in and started to play, already feeling happier as the familiar theme music began.

Saving his last coins, he left the machine when he was tired of playing, walking around and watching the two brave souls who had selected the highest difficulty on the dancing game. Only a few moments had gone by when he saw Weevil in the center of another crowd, this one clustered around a dueling game. They were congratulating him; he had just won a match.

Something in him stirred—he got up and sauntered across the room, hoping to draw his attention. He wanted them to notice him, to invite him in to their game. He wanted to pick a fight with Weevil. He craved that attention, that validation, and tonight he was going to gain it by beating Weevil Underwood. He had never been so certain.

"Who's up next?" Weevil sneered, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "How about you, Rex? Or have you had enough of losing to me?"

The bait taken, Rex smoothly stepped in to the open space at the second console, using his last coins to start their game. He'd let Weevil puff up his ego all he wanted—it would make his victory much sweeter. The thought gripped him that he didn't just want Weevil to lose; he wanted to humiliate him, to destroy him in front of his so-called friends.

The duel began. It wasn't quite the same as dueling on a table, with his own cards in his hands, but he got good cards, and played them well. He knew that he was winning when the crowd grew quiet—they had been cheering for Weevil and mocking his cards, but a fearsome six-star Megazowler changed all of that. The crowd around them both was starting to grow, the word spreading about the two skilled duelists facing off for the first time since their Championship duel.

Rex grinned, setting another trap card and ending his turn. Weevil looked worried but he was hiding it well, powering up his feeble spider card and summoning another in defense mode. It wouldn't help. He destroyed them both.

His eyes skimmed over the crowd, searching for one particular person. He wished Mai was there to see him win—

"What?"

"Your hand must have slipped. So sorry." A boy in a reddish-pink shirt grinned, slipping back towards Weevil's side of the game. The red letters dripped down the screen. _Defeated_. He must have pressed the surrender button when Rex was distracted; there was no way he would have given up now! But there it was, all in red. _Defeated_. He had lost the game.

The triumphant music blared out from the other console. Rex gripped the joysticks, trying to crush them in his fingers. He felt numb. This wasn't right. He should have won—Weevil had to cheat to win!

"How does it feel to lose?" Weevil stepped away from the console, smirking. "I shouldn't even have asked, because that's pretty normal for you, isn't it? Losing. Do you even know how to do anything else? I didn't think so, loser—"

Rex turned away from Weevil to see Mai coming towards them. He blinked, unsure of what to do next as she weaved through the dispersing crowd until she was beside him, and then suddenly she was kissing him. One of her hands slid up his arm to grip his shoulder, and all he could do was lean upwards into the kiss. She was wearing lip gloss, he could taste it.

She broke away, her lips lingering just inches from his. Her eyes flickered away from his eyes, settling on Weevil's instead. She didn't have to do anything more. He turned around—he couldn't help but notice that she was still touching him; her hand hadn't left his shoulder—to see Weevil gaping at them, understandably taken aback. Rex smirked at him, his mind still a little hazy with his own victory.

Weevil didn't say a word as they walked away.

* * *

"Mai Valentine… how lovely to see you. I was beginning to worry."

Above all else, Mai hated coming in to work; she much preferred to do her job away from this shadowy, desolate place. She felt it in the shivers down her spine or in the way tendrils of darkness reached out for her heels—she did not belong there. And every time she ventured down to her boss's lair, a part of her worried that she wouldn't ever come back. It was Hell. Literally.

"Bakura."

He was seated on a mockery of a throne, pieces of shadow and bone knit together into something twisted and ugly. He looked comfortable there.

"I really wish you would come by more often," he said, curling his hands around the armrests of the chair. He leant forward, smirking, "or do I need to remind you of the terms of your own deal?"

She was familiar enough with them. Every day, when she saw her face in the mirror, she was reminded of them. Every day, it was the same face. Eternal youth and beauty, those were hers to keep. But she had to spend her time working for the Devil himself.

"I'm here. What did you want?"

"To see how our newest client is progressing." Shadows continued to swirl around them, and off in the distance was the rumble of thunder. Bakura was a collector—and his collection of souls could never be large enough. "I want his soul. How much longer will it take?"

"It won't be long," Mai said, unflinching despite the shadowy tendrils that snaked around her ankles. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction by retreating. "The next time I'll come back, it will be with Rex's soul."

"Come back soon, then."

She couldn't quit, but she could leave, and Mai quickly backed away before Bakura could ask her any more questions. Her previous cases had been easy, but now—Rex didn't deserve this. He shouldn't have made the deal with her, because she hadn't really done much to help him. She had become his friend, had shelved his stupid dinosaur figurines and eaten his spicy noodles. She had only found what was already there.

* * *

"To be cool, you have to understand modern art." Together they stared up at the painting of squiggles and dots.

"…But I don't get it. Nobody gets it, we just pretend to," Rex said, shifting his attention to the next piece. "I think that's the point."

She looked at the second one, a moody, dark painting, and as Mai looked into the colors she felt the stirrings of shadow around her. Even Rex was beginning to catch on.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

She was uncomfortably close to him. "I'm going to turn on the music—don't you dare run away again. If you want people to like you, you have to be charming. And charming people can dance." She had summoned a music player and a small remote, and when she pressed the button the opening strains of music wafted through the apartment.

"Now put your hand on my waist."

Rex didn't say no.

She did more of the leading, but they spun in awkward circles around the living room, around the coffee table and back again without stopping or running into anything. He was pretty good—he wasn't about to be _bad_ at dancing with Mai Valentine, but it was still satisfying to know he could do it. She had been leading him on the oddest missions through Domino, and while he didn't mind it he was starting to wonder why. Beyond his apartment and his clothes, nothing magical had happened to him. He had dreams of becoming something of a celebrity in Domino, of being the best duelist there was, but nothing like that had happened—he was still as ordinary as anyone, although he supposed that he was happier. He didn't regret his choice; if he hadn't signed the contract he would never have become friends with Mai.

She hadn't said a word about the arcade, and he wasn't about to ask—he didn't want to ruin what relationship they did have—but when he looked at her, it felt right. She was looking back at him when the music changed to a fast, jazzy number. They sprung away from each other.

"This was a terrible idea."

* * *

They walked back down the path, each holding an ice cream cone. Her reasoning this time—_to be cool, you must eat cool things!_—was true but laughably transparent; it would have been better to say they were getting ice cream and that would have been the end of it. When they got to the fountain where they had first met, Rex sat down at the fountain's ledge, motioning for Mai to join him.

"What's going on? All of these things you're making me do are ridiculous," Rex said, adjusting his napkin around the ice cream cone. "I mean, if it's about the taking-my-soul part, you don't have to tell me, but…you know you can, right?"

"I know," Mai answered, staring at her nearly-finished cone. "Usually I just take their souls right away—I don't get to know someone first. But afterwards, you'll change, or you won't last long, and I don't want to see that happen. You're already cool, as you are—even if you like dinosaurs and have terrible fashion sense."

"That's it!" Mai stood up then, pulling the large, unfolded contract out from her pocket. "Look…you wanted to be cool—but you already are. You wanted to win, but you can't be a winner and lose your soul at the same time…"

"I guess that's one way to look at it," Rex said, finishing his ice cream and wondering if, without a soul, it would taste the same.

"You can't be on top and then go to the underworld, that doesn't make any sense!" Mai scanned the rest of the document; satisfied, she grabbed a corner in each hand and ripped the paper in half. "I'm releasing you from this contract. You're free." The papers fluttered away from her hands, vanishing into the air around them.

Rex looked down, his clothing changing back to his collared jacket-and-vest combination. The hems of his pants lengthened and frayed, his shoelaces untied and dragging on the ground. "Is my apartment…?"

"A mess? I'm afraid so."

He drew his knees up to his chest, missing the weight of the silver watch on his wrist. "…what will happen to you now? You were supposed to take my soul. Isn't that in your job contract?"

Mai narrowed her eyes. "I don't care."

"You should."

Bakura stepped out from behind the fountain, sending a wave of dark energy towards Rex. His body went flying, landing in the grass at the other end of the park.

"I never really enjoy making deals like yours," Bakura said, advancing slowly towards her. "With eternal youth, I'll never get your soul, despite how much I want it for my collection. But his soul—I should just _take_ it—"

"I'll duel you for him," Mai said, looking at where Rex had fallen. "In fact, I'll duel for both of us."

That got his attention. "If you lose, then…?"

"I'll let you have my soul." She knew he'd never refuse such an offer. "My one condition is that we use my cards."

"Fine," he said, watching as she shuffled the deck twice, taking several deep breaths as she cut it and gave him the stack to the left.

They drew their hands, Mai smiling with relief when she saw her cards. She'd had to go by scent when she was shuffling the cards, and her tactics had worked. When he laid down a single trap card and ended his turn, she knew just what card was on the field.

"You don't have any monster cards in your hand? Pity," she said, summoning her three Harpie Ladies. "I won't attack you, because you'll just use Mirror Force. But it doesn't really matter, does it?" Mai grinned when Bakura ended his next turn, drawing a throwaway magic card. "It doesn't matter because these are the only monster cards in my deck. I know every card in my deck, and you don't have anything that can beat me."

It took several more turns for him to believe her. "Let me go, Bakura," Mai said, clutching the cards in her hand as if they were a lifeline. "If you release me from our contract, you could get my soul eventually."

"Remember that, then," he said after several minutes, folding his hand. True to her word, there were only magic cards in the stack he had been given. He retrieved her contract and tore it in half, lingering for just a moment before he vanished as well. "In the end, I always win."

* * *

The first thing Rex saw when he woke up was Mai leaning over him. It wasn't a bad way to wake up. "…I feel like somebody punched me," he said, groaning. "Wait, if I can still feel, does that mean what I hope it means?"

"Yes. Bakura won't bother us anymore." Mai helped him to stand; he wasn't injured, just sore. "I dueled him for our souls."

"Wow…how did you beat the Devil in a duel?"

"I cheated."

Rex laughed despite the pain in his side. "Lucky for me that you did." He didn't really need her help to walk but he liked the closeness and together, they set back out for his home. When they arrived it would be dingy and cluttered and altogether un-cool, but that was all right. He was thinking of putting up a Red-Eyes Black Dragon poster in the living room. "You know, out of everything that I've seen since I met you, Mai Valentine, knowing that you cheated to win a duel is probably the most believable thing."

She pushed him.

A moment later they were walking side-by-side again. "This has got to be the strangest relationship I've ever been in. And that's including this one movie star…"

"You took his soul, right?"

"Jean-Claude Magnum never had one to begin with…"

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes:

One of the things that make me sad-face about _Yu-Gi-Oh_ is how Rex and Weevil start out as these very capable duelists and then devolve into comic relief throughout the series, so I wanted to do an early-setting AU that got to do them justice, I hope. I also wanted to put a joke in there somewhere about how nobody ever dies in the dub-version so they really need souls, but it never really felt right *leans on the fourth wall*

Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


	15. Luck is in the Leftovers

**Luck is in the Leftovers**

* * *

"blood will tell but often  
it tells too much"

—A Roach of the Taverns

* * *

"We're like a family, all of us. And family looks out for each other. Isn't that right?"

Jounouchi nodded his head, only half-listening. Usually Hirutani gave the family speech when he wanted something from them. Last time, it was something to do with their turf—some vendor thinking he could move in on an area that was already spoken for—and a few well-placed threats were enough to get the message across. Sometimes the people they dealt with weren't as perceptive.

Sure, they were something like brothers, and some of them probably felt that way about their organization, but when Jounouchi thought of family a single person centered in his mind. Shizuka was his family, and the one person he'd do anything for. Hirutani was…more like a creditor. He had a sharp memory of the debt Jounouchi owed him, and he doubted he'd ever be able to pay him back. That was why Hirutani trusted him. He was the honorable one, the one with the kid sister. He wasn't going anywhere.

Jounouchi stretched out his legs as he listened to the boss. He didn't feel honorable when he threatened shopkeepers, bribed corrupt officials to look the other way. He didn't feel honorable when he took the money, stacks of bills in a manilla envelope, and turned around and gave it to the doctors who looked more than a little terrified of him. "J-Just help her," he had begged. His hopes rested in their trembling hands. "Whatever it takes."

In the unadorned back-room, Hirutani stared down each of them in turn. The dim lighting made shadows pool in the hollows of his cheeks and under the sharp contours of his jaw.

"Our family," he said, "is under attack."

They had all gone very still. "You know that one of us is missing from this room. He has chosen to go over to the other side, to betray his family. They've just come to town—a new outfit, calling themselves the Rare Hunters. Already acting like they can own this town. Domino is _ours_," Hirutani continued, spitting out each word.

Jounouchi nodded, feeling Hirutani's eyes on him. Domino was the sort of city that liked to think highly of itself—it was hard to look around and not see an I2 advertisement or the Kaiba Corporation tower. But the tall building cast a long shadow, and in the shadows lurked a different kind of business, something dangerous and ugly. They couldn't own Domino any more than they could own the sky. He had known a woman like that, once.

Hitutani's gaze passed him by, satisfied, as he began to lay out their plan. "Why don't we give them a nice welcoming gift?"

* * *

Shizuka kicked her legs, fidgeting on the rigid plastic chairs set up around the large waiting room. It was nearly full, with several young families and an elderly couple waiting their turn. She had brought a book to read, but for the moment she was more interested in this world than the one in her book. People were fascinating to look at.

She didn't know why they had come to this clinic, for themselves or for someone else, but none of them looked scared. Shizuka wasn't, not anymore—she used to be, but a check-up was nothing to be frightened of.

"What are you staring at me for? Admiring my good looks?"

The boy two seats down from her had leaned back into his chair, making it look far more comfortable than she knew it was. Frowning slightly—she had never been caught looking at someone, let alone openly challenged about it—she twisted in her chair to get a better look at him. "No...I noticed that you were the only person besides me who was here alone. That's all."

He ran a hand through his messy, light-colored hair, and Shizuka knew at once it was the wrong thing to say. He reminded her of a chicken with its feathers ruffled—maybe it would have been better to tell him _that_. He was stupid anyways, trying to make her all flustered like that.

"I'm not here by myself. I'm waiting for my brother…the doctors are seeing him right now. It's nothing serious," he said, catching her worried expression, "no broken bones or anything, but worth getting looked over and bandaged up."

"I'm sure being near you will make him feel better! I know I can bear anything, as long as my brother is with me," Shizuka said. It was a little disconcerting, to hear how casually he mentioned his brother's wounds, but she was the same way about her eyesight. It was all normal for her—maybe he was an athlete, or had a high-risk job. "I know! You should make him a card."

"Are you serious?"

Shizuka nodded, secretly enjoying the disgruntled look on his face. "Sure! I'll help."

She fanned out the pages of her book, pulling out the blank note card she had been using as a bookmark. In the waiting room, another name was called and several others shuffled around but their corner of the waiting area remained a quiet oasis. After a moment of shuffling through her bag for something to write with, he reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a pen, offering it to her.

"I have pretty good handwriting; I can do the message if you like. What is your brother's name?"

"…Rishid."

She could hear the smile in his voice. Cards, letters…anything handwritten carried a special message with it. Shizuka considered herself a decent judge of character, and she had a feeling that her newest friend could appreciate some old-fashioned things.

She passed the finished note to him for him to sign. He scribbled his name along the bottom, messy and uneven compared to her precise handwriting. "Your name is Marik? …Oh, they just called me—I've got to go."

Shizuka stood up, picked up her book, and left the waiting area. Marik settled back into his chair, spinning the card between his fingers. If he had told her the truth—that his brother had been stupid enough to get caught alone in the side of Domino that wasn't theirs yet and had received a painful lesson about it—the encounter might have gone quite differently. She never did say what she was visiting the clinic for.

Over the half-wall that separated hallway from waiting area he could see his brother walking towards him. He towered over it—he was often more threatening when he just stood there, silent and firm like an immovable wall enchanted into being. He wasn't wearing his cloak either; torn and spotted with blood it wasn't good for anything anymore.

Marik got up from his chair and met Rishid in the hallway. Casually he tossed the card towards him, and Rishid caught it with his good hand. "What's this?" he asked. Marik made sure to turn around and head outside before Rishid could read it all.

"Some girl was all over me back there. She wrote the card, I just signed it. Do those flowers look like my doing?"

Rishid read over the card again, from the heartfelt message to the cheerful border of flowers drawn in along the bottom of the paper. He tucked it into his pocket, careful not to bend it. "Did she appear to have any alliances with the other gang?"

"You worry too much," Marik said as they walked outside, turning down one sunlit street. "Even if she was, could it stop us?"

* * *

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you," Jounouchi said, reaching into the refrigerator for the last can of soda. Most dinners were a mishmash of things found in their tiny kitchen; cheap noodles, frozen foods and half-empty bags of chips more often than not made up their meals. Tonight's soup was as gourmet as it got.

He poured half of the soda into a glass for Shizuka, keeping the can for himself. "Something came up at the last minute. Hirutani had us all out looking for somebody—I couldn't say no. But…did your check-up go okay? Your eyesight is as good as new?"

"Everything's fine." Shizuka looked down into her soup. She had discovered it later that afternoon—somehow; he had slipped the pen into her book in place of the note card, marking her page for her. She didn't know how he had done it, or why—she was just being friendly, he didn't owe her a thing—but she could understand a little of it. Jounouchi was like that, never one to leave any debts unpaid, even the imagined ones. She could feel it, sometimes, in the watchful way he looked at her. In some ways she felt the same way.

"Shizuka—I have to warn you about something…there's a really bad fight going on. There's this rival group called the Rare Hunters—they're new to Domino and very dangerous. They've got this charismatic leader that keeps pulling more people into their group, and they're trying to take us out." Jounouchi paused, Hirutani's face looming in the front of his mind.

"You have to stay safe. If you see anyone wearing purple cloaks—get away from them. This should all be over soon."

Shizuka sat, motionless, staring into her soup. She could clearly make out every wisp and curl of steam rising from the bowl. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You worry about me when I'm worrying about you."

"Promise me," Jounouchi said.

"It's a promise that we'll share, then." She looked up at him, smiling a little. That night, dinner had never tasted so delicious.

* * *

It was a silly thing—her cheeks burned just thinking about it—but as Shizuka hurried down one street, her feet kept pushing her forward, even as her mind doubted every step. It was foolish, childish, even. She reached into her skirt pocket, fingers clasping tightly around the pen.

When she had taken it out of her book that first time, she had been able to look at it up-close. It was a standard, mass-produced pen, but along one side gold letters spelled out the name of a restaurant in Domino. She remembered the street it was on, but had never visited—she had always been more prone to habits than curiosity. But there was something she couldn't quite put her finger on…some force that was driving her to this place. She was like a magnet, pulled towards another. She took another step forward.

The restaurant looked like any other storefront, with yellow awnings and a battered sign over the door. It nearly blended in to the shops surrounding it—not exactly a good business strategy. Shizuka walked up to one window, peering at the menu that had been taped up to the glass. She could afford to eat lunch here.

For the time of day, the restaurant was surprisingly empty with only one other single patron. Shizuka took her seat on a table near one corner and took out her book to read while she waited. She never minded being alone when she had a book for company.

It was silly, foolish, childish. At every noise her eyes darted from her book around the room, both hoping and dreading to see him.

After she ate, Shizuka signed the receipt with the pen he had given her. The cashier—a slender, timid-looking man—recognized the design, motioning to an identical one on the countertop.

"A friend, Marik, gave it to me," she said. The change that came over the room was immediate—the cashier's eyes widened and he stumbled away, quickly darting behind the curtain that concealed the kitchen from sight. She chanced a look over her shoulder—the other customer was definitely tense as well.

Confused and a little nervous, she was about to leave when he came in through the kitchen. There was something different; there was a hardness to him that wasn't there when they had met at the clinic. He looked angry.

"Do you remember me? I sat next to you at the clinic."

"No."

"Wait, what?" In her mind it had never played out this way. Hurriedly Shizuka pulled out the pen from her pocket and showed it to him. "I—I came here to return this. You left it with my book."

"You came all this way to return…a pen."

It sounded ridiculous, and they both knew it. He smirked at her, half-mocking, half-amused, and motioned for her to continue. "…No," Shizuka said, frowning. "But I did want to see you again, and to ask about your brother. Is he feeling better? Did he like your card?"

"Let's talk...privately for a moment." Marik made another gesture and the other patron in the store got up, walking back towards the kitchen and disappeared. He flipped the store's sign to _closed_ before directing Shizuka towards one of the further tables. He touched her shoulder—it was nothing, hardly a touch at all—but that was all it took to direct her towards the table he had in mind, away from the prying eyes and ears in the kitchen.

It was like her magnet had finally connected with its match. Shizuka sat down, shivering a little, replaying the moment in her mind. "That they would close the store for you is pretty impressive…is it a family business?"

"Something like that, Shizuka," he said, calmly waiting for her reaction.

"…So you do remember me! And you knew my name?"

"Earlier—I lied." Marik shrugged, leaning back into the chair. "They called your name at the clinic—I didn't even need you to tell it to me to figure it out. Even completely silent, other cues are practically screams of information to anyone observant enough. I could narrow down your age, measurements, even your personality and character from your clothing or your book. Information is life in this business. I'd appreciate you to not be so careless with mine."

"I don't understand…"

"I'm a liar. Just now, I pretended to not recognize you. To the men in the kitchen right now, I don't have a brother. This place only masquerades as a restaurant. Do you understand now?" He paused. "…And I think he does like the card, but with him it's pretty hard to tell."

"More lies?" Shizuka frowned. Her eyes darted around the room—on the door, to the curtain in the back—before settling again on him.

"No—only truths, whether they're what you want to hear or not. You say you want to be my friend? Attachments are like a stone around your neck, they'll pull you down. Don't say things like that so lightly—you won't be able to escape from them."

"I meant it," Shizuka said, her fingers balling into fists on the cool surface of the table. "Unlike you, I'm not in the business of lying to people."

He was laughing at her—low, dark laughter that wasn't helping to make her any less uneasy. "Fine—we'll do things your way. But I'm not responsible for you. When you fall, I won't be there with my hand out to catch you."

Shizuka stood up from the table, ready to leave. Marik joined her as several men came in through the kitchen, their hard eyes set on them both. She couldn't move—she had gone completely still with her first glimpse of their billowing, dark purple cloaks.

She fought to calm her racing heartbeat, not to give away any cues that she knew who they were. She would have to lie. Jounouchi could never know she'd been here.

"Go with her, make sure she leaves safely," Marik said, motioning towards a particularly stern-looking cloak.

"No—I can manage on my own. Besides, my brother is expecting me."

* * *

Jounouchi hunched over the bathroom sink, his hands underneath the tap. He waited, running the water until it ran clear, over his bruised knuckles and bleeding fingertips. One of his nails was ripped, and the skin of his palms was scratched up in several places.

He was lucky that Shizuka was out when he came back, staggering into the living room and locking the door behind him.

He was lucky, too, to have escaped the worst of it. A trio of the Rare Hunters had picked a fight with them—underneath their purple cloaks they were huge, and fast—and he had barely gotten away. He didn't run, he'd never run, but his comrades had more bruises and battle scars.

He heard Shizuka come in, calling to him, and he answered her but couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. Behind the door, faced with the mirror and the sound of water rushing from the tap, was all he could handle right then.

* * *

"Shizuka! Let me carry that!"

Sighing, she handed over the shopping bag. "Honda, you don't have to. It's only a few booster packs, and cards barely weigh anything."

Hiroto Honda was her brother's best friend. Something of a street brawler himself, he always had Jounouchi's back—she guessed that Honda was here to keep her safe in case the Rare Hunters struck again. He also made a pretty good shopping buddy. "I'm sure Jounouchi will like these cards."

He smiled at her as they walked to the next store. "He'll love them. It's a great surprise."

"He's been really tense lately…I don't think he's been sleeping well." It had been raining only an hour ago, just a summer storm, and she dodged the rain puddles in their path. "Do you know anything about the fighting? Do you know why they're fighting?"

Looking sideways at him, she could see his profile—from the narrowed eyebrows and sloping chin, everything about him was in angles. She remembered what Marik had told her—about information, and silent clues. Even though she was Jounouchi's kid sister, she could tell he thought she was old enough for the truth.

"It's all about respect and debt," he said, speaking more to her reflection in the storefronts than to her. "The Rare Hunters took away Hirutani's pride when they came here, and started gaining power. Each time the groups clash it settles one debt, but creates one for the other side. It's a cycle—but it will stop eventually."

_-Will the battle end when there's no one left to fight?_

Giving voice to something would make it real, and she was afraid to ask it. She stomped through the next rain puddle, satisfied at the splash. "Then maybe they need to listen to their sisters, and stop fighting like children."

He paused, looking thoughtfully towards her. "Some men don't know how to do anything else. I've seen Hirutani a few times, and to me he always looks like he's just itching to punch somebody. And everyone else just follows his example. It's not my idea of fun, and I like to fight," he said as they approached the street corner, waiting for the light to change.

She looked out at the red light, and the cars slowing to a stop beside her. A motorcycle weaved around the cars, heading towards the outer lane. It was the restaurant all over again, and Shizuka wanted nothing more than to dash away but she was frozen, with Honda on one side and Marik quickly approaching on her right. The light still hadn't changed—they were stuck there, with no place to hide.

Marik edged his motorcycle alongside the curb, taking off his helmet and shaking his hair out where the helmet had matted it down. "…Hi."

"Hi," she said. It was more like a whisper; she doubted he even heard it. Her face was approaching the color of her hair, but all she could do was stare at him. "I didn't know you had a motorcycle."

"Hey Shizuka, do you know this guy?" Honda asked, taking a step forward.

She nodded. "He's a friend." It felt nice to say. Her breath caught in her throat—he was holding out the helmet towards her.

"Want a ride?"

It was silly, foolish, childish…but she never wanted anything more. Impulsively, she took the helmet and put it on before Honda could say anything else. "I'll see you later," she called to him, eagerly approaching the motorcycle.

"…Good, now put your arms around me, and hold on tight." Again, she could hear the smile that crept into his voice. It was thrilling, the second before the light changed to green.

Then they were off, and flying.

From the corner, Honda looked down at the bag of cards in his hands. "I have a motorbike…why didn't I ever think of that?" he said as he watched them turn a corner and vanish.

With the visor down and the helmet clasped tightly around her head, Shizuka's world shrank to what was right before her. She had never been this close to someone before—not just in proximity, but in spirit. In trust. The wind whipped at her shirtsleeves and she leaned into his back, trying to use his body as a shield.

When he laughed, she could feel it rumbling up from his chest. "I'm sorry I took you away from your boyfriend."

He didn't sound sorry. "Honda is a friend of my brother's. But now I'll probably have to explain you, and this…thanks a lot." She thought she'd have to shout but her head was so close to his she could speak right near his ear.

"This was nothing more than a happy coincidence. But what are you going to tell him? The truth?"

"I haven't decided yet."

There it was, the rumbling laughter again. "That's the truth."

They raced around the city, past the sparkling KC tower and down towards the other side, towards the water. It was a spectacular kind of freedom—to just get up and _go_, wherever you wanted to. It felt like soaring.

They stopped at a lookout, on a cliff that overlooked the ocean. On the outskirts of the city center, fewer cars passed them by. Marik sat on the guardrail with his back to the water, watching her struggle to remove the helmet.

"For your first time riding, you did pretty well. I half expected you to scream."

"And give you the satisfaction? Never." She rested her arms on the railing beside him, looking out into the churning waves. "My brother used to take me here, when I was little."

She always liked being near the water. The way sand kicked up beneath her feet, the coolness of the water… she took several deep breaths, already feeling happier. "You seem to know so much about me, but I hardly know anything about you..."

"—Information is life and—"

"I _know_ that," she said, "but I don't _mean_ that. I don't know why you chose that particular motorcycle, or if you like the food at your restaurant. I don't know your favorite color, or what makes you happy…things like that."

"The rain makes me happy," he said suddenly, and so quietly that Shizuka barely caught it. She felt the first drops on her arms; the earlier storm hadn't quite ended yet.

He jumped down from the railing, turning to face the chasm of dark water. "Water means life, but too much can mean death. So—just rain."

Shizuka closed her eyes, feeling the mist on her skin. When she opened them, she turned to find him staring not out towards the ocean, but at her. Drops were beading up along the fringes of his hair. She was struck with the urge to touch him, to cling to him like a water droplet, like they had been on the motorcycle.

There was a faint beeping coming from his pocket, and he pulled out his phone, pressing it up tightly against one ear. His body went rigid, his eyes darkening. She doubted he even felt the raindrops on his skin. "…I'll be there right away."

She was already moving to put the helmet back on. "Is everything all right?"

"They have Rishid. That bastard Hirutani has my brother."

"…What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take them all out. This charade has gone on for long enough," Marik said, angrily brushing the rain away from his face.

"Wait!"

She stood between him and the motorcycle. "You can't…please, my brother…my brother is in Hirutani's gang. You can't hurt him. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but—"

"We're leaving now." He walked past her, barely noticing her. His mind was already racing to his brother, his slow body could barely keep up. "Get on. Now."

It was already raining, and her face was hidden behind the helmet, but all the same it was embarrassing to cry. She sat behind him on the motorcycle, arms wrapped loosely around him, crying into the helmet. "He's my brother…I'm sure he could help you get yours back too, somehow…"

They left the ocean behind, threading back onto the city streets. "How is he not like all the rest?" He spit out each word, scornful of them all.

"Jounouchi only got involved with them because of me. It's my eyes," she said, trembling. "I needed an operation to save my eyesight. Jounouchi got the money—but he was in debt to Hirutani. He had to work for him."

Marik scowled into the storm. It was the one thing he couldn't pick up from their first meeting—why she was at the clinic. He had ruled out anything serious because of how calm she appeared. It was a mistake on his part.

"But we can't just let our big brothers take care of us. Sometimes we have to look out for them too, right?"

"I never said Rishid was older."

"I know. I figured it out myself."

He merged into the far lane, zooming down through the rain towards Domino. "Is your brother at your home?"

"I hope so."

"Take me to him."

* * *

Jounouchi had just gotten the call when Shizuka burst inside. "Thank goodness we got here in time! You can't leave yet."

"Look, now's really not the best…wait, 'we'?"

"Don't be angry." She motioned behind her for Marik to follow her inside. The rain drummed down along the windowpanes, beating a rhythm that mimicked her heartbeat. Their place was a mess, and Jounouchi would surely overreact to everything.

"Marik is my friend," she said, pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts. "That phone call you got was from Hirutani, wasn't it? They captured a member of the Rare Hunters—that person is Marik's brother. You have to help him."

"Yeah, and get burned by both sides? Put you at risk? No thanks."

"If you help Rishid escape, I swear that the Rare Hunters won't touch you," Marik said, studying Jounouchi. "And if we take Hirutani out, any debt to him vanishes with him."

Jounouchi's eyes kept darting back and forth between them. "Shizuka, we made a promise."

"I didn't know he was in the group when I made it. He's my friend—he didn't have to come here. Please help him."

"I'll see what I can do." Jounouchi put on his jacket; the storm didn't seem to be letting up.

* * *

Five minutes in and he was regretting ever making that agreement.

"Tell us where the rest of you hide!" Hirutani snarled. "You're all big purple rats; you must have a nest somewhere."

One by one, they took turns punching him. Rishid never said a word as his arms and face blossomed with bruises. He stared them down like he could see right into their hearts. Jounouchi was dreading his turn.

He tried to go easy on him but he couldn't, not with them all watching. Rishid grunted out in pain, flinching despite himself, and Jounouchi nearly lost it. "Why don't you take him into one of the back rooms and rough him up a little," Hirutani said, clapping him on the back with a slimy hand.

It was just the opening he was looking for. With one hand roughly on the back of Rishid's collar he dragged him away from the main area, into one of the side-rooms that he had chosen for just this purpose. Unlike the others, this one had two doors, and Rishid was about to make his escape through one of them.

Jounouchi leaned down over him, admiring how Rishid was still strong enough to stare sullenly back. It would take a lot to break him.

"Maybe this will get you talking!" he shouted loud enough for them all to hear him, punching into his open palm a few times to mimic the sound. He pushed Rishid against the wall, leaning in to whisper, "Your brother Marik sent me. That door to your right leads to a hallway, and if you follow it, it will take you to the fire escape."

He kicked the wall a few times to make some more noise. "Unfortunately, you'll have to overpower me to make your escape. A few good punches out to do it."

Through the bruises, he caught the first hint of emotion. "Gladly," Rishid whispered, repaying the favor with a solid punch. Jounouchi went down, hearing the quiet click of the door closing behind him as he left.

They shook Jounouchi awake. "Fool! You let him get away!" Hirutani shouted. "Everyone—start looking for him! He couldn't have gone far."

When they all had left, Hirutani helped Jounouchi to his feet. "I-I'm sorry," Jounouchi grunted, wiping at his chin. That one had _hurt_.

"Don't be. The first place he'll go to is his stronghold—we'll know exactly where it is now, thanks to you." Hirutani continued, oblivious to the stunned look on Jounouchi's face. "To deceive your enemies, sometimes you must first deceive your comrades. Remember that."

"I will."

With nothing else to say, Jounouchi silently followed Hirutani as he chased after the others.

* * *

The fight had already started when they got there. At the back of the restaurant, a group in purple capes were fiercely defending against Hirutani's men. Jounouchi threw himself into the fray as best as he could, hoping that Marik didn't have another brother he had to look out for.

Jounouchi looked around; his guys were outnumbered and fading fast. He ducked a punch, tripping the guy on his own purple cloak, before focusing on Hirutani. He was in his element—laughing through the pain, gleefully giving back every hit he got.

Then he turned to Rishid, and Jounouchi charged forward without even thinking, blocking the punch with his own body and delivering another square across his jaw. Hirutani flew backwards, arms wind-milling, a vicious smirk on his face.

"Are you betraying your family, Jounouchi?" asked Hirutani, circling around him.

"No," Jounouchi said, holding up his fists, "I'm defending it."

* * *

Marik was speeding, but he hardly cared. This was one party he couldn't be late to. He had left Shizuka at her home, with a promise to stay there, out of trouble. It had stopped raining but the ground was still a patchwork of rain puddles.

He passed the last street, and then he saw them. Jounouchi and Rishid, squaring off against the monster. Hirutani was an impressive fighter, but he was looking desperate. It wasn't a fight he could win.

When he saw the glint of a knife he revved the engine, his sights zeroing in on a single target. Marik didn't stop when he hit him with the motorcycle. He heard the sound—they all did—when Hirutani's body got tangled in-between the wheels. With their leader gone they scattered, but Marik didn't stop. He'd drive and drive and drive until the rain washed it all away.

* * *

Shizuka had heard the story the way Jounouchi had told it, but all the same she stood in front of the restaurant, expecting to see something different. Hoping to see him. "They're the Rare Hunters because they're searching for someone. They have a sister—somewhere out there. With enough information, or enough notoriety, they'll be able to find her."

She could hear Marik's voice in her head. "Information is life and death." With Hirutani gone, he had to leave. But here she was, at the restaurant.

Her food arrived—noodles, nothing special—when the server slid a plain white note card, folded in half, along the surface of the table, motioning for her to take it. Her name was spelled out across the top, in messy and uneven handwriting. With an excited, anticipatory smile, she opened the flap of the card and began to read.

* * *

The End.

* * *

Written for Round 5 of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing: Sedateshipping (Shizuka x Marik). _Luck exists in the leftovers_ is a Japanese proverb, so don't ever be sad if you get the last helping of food, because it's lucky! :) I challenged myself to try and write whatever pairing we got this time in the style of Asano Atsuko's _No.6_ novel series, I'm not really sure if I succeeded or not xD; Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


	16. Ubiquity

Written for Round Six of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Geminishipping: Dark Bakura x Thief King Bakura, with a side shipping of Nightshipping: Dark Bakura x Kisara because it's _my_ pairing so I have to put it in there :D The OC members of the Domino Police Force are the creation of My Misguided Fairytale and are used with permission. Thank you!

"Ubiquity"

* * *

At this hour, the Precinct was a hive of activity—officers in pressed uniforms walked briskly around the building, arms laden with files to go to evidence storage in the catacomb-like basement levels or up to any clear work surface in the rooms above. It was noisy; someone was always on the phone or at the copier, documenting convicts or interviewing witnesses.

Lieutenant Shuzo Ohtaki threaded his way through the crowds towards one of the interrogation rooms, mentally steeling himself for what was sure to be a tricky conversation. Their guest had spent the night in a cell and several hours in that room, and he had hardly said a thing since he was brought in, content to just relax into the wooden chair and stare amusedly at them through the one-way glass. Most of the types he dealt with were easy to read—being a detective, he saw glimpses into people's lives that even their closest friends would never see—but there was something about this guy that told him that even if he did start talking, none of it would be the truth. Domino was no stranger to the dark, and it was his job to tease out the truth from the muddled crime scenes and testimonies he saw every day.

He slipped into the glorified closet on the other side of the one-way window, closing the door behind him and joining the two others who were looking after their suspect.

"Right on time, as usual," one of the officers greeted him, handing over a thin folder, all the information they could glean about their newest suspect. "The Captain called in a favor, and got one of the psychologists to help us with a profile and to figure out where the thief would strike next—that is, if we're not already looking at him. This is Kisara; Kisara, the Lieutenant."

Ohtaki shook her hand, amazed at how slim her fingers were. He could see why Officer Daimon had volunteered to spend the last hour in here, he had great company. "Tell me what you think about this case."

For the last month, there had been break-ins in various stores in Domino's city center. Yesterday's robbery of a pawn shop on Fifteenth Street cemented the pattern—the day of the month corresponded with the location of each crime. At night, the killer picked the locks and made off with everything—when the owners came back to open their store they were left with an empty room. Ohtaki's team still couldn't figure out how they had done their little vanishing act, let alone done it without even being seen.

Kisara tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. "To be honest, I'm not sure. The antique store that was robbed two weeks ago had a massive grandfather clock that would have taken several people to lift, let alone get out the door. Our thief is most likely young, and strong. And even though something like moving that clock seems like a team effort, other behavior—the rigid schedule, the obsessive need to remove everything in the room, including the light fixtures, and then to remove every last fingerprint—points to a solitary criminal. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before."

They turned their attention to the man in the room. "I'll go talk to him," Ohtaki said.

Their suspect wouldn't stand out in a crowd—faded blue jeans, striped shirt, white hair that was a little brighter than Kisara's—the only unusual thing about him were his eyes. They were unsettling to look at; like he could know all of your secrets just from looking at you.

Ohtaki took a seat across from him, and looked him right in the eyes. "You gave your name as Ichiro Satou." It was obviously a fake name despite being as common as it was; he didn't have the resources to track down every Ichiro Satou in the entire city and they both knew it. "Can you repeat your story to me, please? We already have the records, I'm just trying to be thorough."

The man leaned forward in his chair, licking his lips before he spoke. "Like I said, I was trying to break into the store, but I didn't realize everything had already been stolen."

"You couldn't see that the store was empty?"

"It was dark," he whined, straightening up a moment later. "Wait—I've think I remember hearing something about this on the news. Isn't there a thief running around Domino clearing out everything from random stores? Maybe he's the one that got there first!"

The Lieutenant sighed and narrowed his eyes, trying to get the point across. "Let us worry about that. We have a few leads that we're following up on."

He shrugged, doing his best _who, me?_ when there was a knock at the door and Kisara walked in, moving to whisper into Ohtaki's ear. After a moment, they traded places. Ohtaki didn't like the idea of leaving her alone with him, but if the Captain wanted to talk to him, it couldn't wait.

In the interrogation room, Kisara perched on the edge of her chair and looked at her watch. She'd give him five minutes; he was more likely to talk the longer she stayed silent.

Two minutes in and the door opened again; when Ohtaki came back in he looked even wearier than before. "You," he said, refusing to address him by the fake name, "couldn't have been in two places at once, right?"

He picked up on it faster than Ohtaki would have given him credit for. "There was another incident." Kisara noticed a breathiness in his voice that wasn't there before. It wasn't surprise—he expected this, almost like he was waiting for it.

Ohtaki nodded, frowning. "It happened after we took you into custody—the owners took their time calling it in because of their own shady business practices. Everything's the same—it has to be the same perpetrator."

After stretching out his arms and legs he got up from the chair. "That means I couldn't have been the thief you're after, right? I've been under surveillance this entire time. Does that mean I'm not under suspicion anymore?"

Ohtaki and Kisara exchanged looks. Not under suspicion, but still suspicious. "Yes…" Ohtaki hated to let him get away—this case had left them completely in the dark at every turn. It had finally seemed like they were getting somewhere.

"Since you're so anxious to leave," Kisara said, standing up as well, "would you let me drive you home? It's the least we could do after inconveniencing you like this."

"Thanks, but—"

"I insist."

Kisara smiled sweetly, happy that at least they'd gained some small victory from all of this. He was the closest thing they had to a witness, and with any luck they'd be able to find him again if they ever needed to.

* * *

"How would you do it—if you had to steal everything from a room in one night with no one knowing, what would you do?"

Kisara considered it as the car crawled through traffic. On the other side of the median the cars rushed past, weaving seamlessly by and out of sight. The other side always had it better. "You mean, how do I think the thief is doing it? …I've considered burning, but there's the smoke and the smell, that would draw attention or get out of control. There's no place to hide that much stuff—you couldn't just toss it all in the trash, or hide it on the roof or in a closet. And then there's the light…without light to see by, how could anyone clean the room so thoroughly? But that late at night, someone would notice the lights."

"Some people have terrific night vision."

"It would still take a lot of planning, moving so many things in a single night."

"I disagree," he said as they turned right, down the very street that one of the thefts had taken place. "Whoever he is, the person can steal everything in a single night, regardless of the type of store or location. Maybe he doesn't need to plan if he has a foolproof method. Maybe he just strikes, lashing out like a snake, and clamps his jaws around the target."

"You're very observant," Kisara said after a while, following his direction to turn down the next street. "What sort of observations have you made about us?"

She glanced over one shoulder to see a smile toying at the edges of his lips. "You're in over your heads—it's a miracle that the media doesn't know that. Your friend the Lieutenant means well and is a good officer, but he's a realist. He can't be in two places at once. As for you—you assist but you're not a true officer… this is your own car, not one from the police fleet. What is it that you do? Administrative work? You couldn't work at the morgue…"

"I'm compiling a profile of the thief."

They were almost there. She could see the building he had mentioned, a large brick complex adjoining an internet café and dentist's office. She didn't think it suited him.

"…And?"

"Male, over eighteen and under fifty. Strong, or physically fit—at least able to lift and move things quickly. An accomplished thief with possible prior convictions," she said, watching his face for any visible reactions. "But I'm still missing the connection…the reason for the crimes. What message is he sending? Why robbery and not murder or arson? There's still something we're missing."

"Keep looking, and maybe you'll find it." When the car rolled to a stop at the curb he gracefully leapt out. In this light it was remarkable how different he looked from when she first saw him in the Precinct.

"If I need to find you, what name should I use?"

He turned, his hand lingering on the passenger door. "You can call me Bakura."

* * *

The phone call came at the right time—Rebecca Hopkins had impeccable timing. She never settled for anything half-way, always choosing either the best or worst times to pump her friend for information.

"_Hey! So listen, I have an article due in a few days, and I figured you would have an inside scoop for me."_

"You know I can't tell you anything. Wait for the press conference like everybody else." She held the cell phone up with one hand and turned the wheel with the other, sliding into an open parking spot outside the Precinct. Kisara figured Rebecca would push a little more, and possibly offer a bribe of baked goods or a sushi night out, but even if she could relent there was really nothing more to tell.

"_Please? My editor is being a pain, expecting me to surpass the brilliance that was my last crime piece, that one about the smuggling ring? If you help me out, then I'll seriously owe you."_

She peered at the screen of her phone, glancing at the time and date in bold lettering. "How about we meet for drinks after work? There's a place on Sixteenth Street that I like."

"_You're a lifesaver!"_

When Rebecca hung up, she stayed in the car for a moment, her fingers still gripping the wheel. She wasn't a lifesaver—not like the Lieutenant and the others. She worked with them and among them, but she was never one of them.

* * *

He slunk through the alleys, picking his path out of the choicest patches of shadow. When the rest of Domino was sleeping, he preferred to be awake—there was something about the night that moved him like nothing else. Perhaps it was the coolness, or the stillness. The sounds of the night—the far-off whine of an ambulance, the croaks of houses settling as they called out to each other, and the occasional rustling of the wind through his hair -they all resonated like static in his mind, hazy and soothing. He closed his eyes and kept on walking.

It would be a jewelry store tonight, he decided. He had been itching for something a little grander; he could feel it in his chest. The stirring got stronger every time, and nothing would sate it except _more_.

It was dark inside, but the stones threw light off of the walls and ceiling, transforming the store into a glittering cave. He grasped one in the palm on his hand, pulling the golden chain around his neck. His shadow stretched across the cabinets of cut stones and settings, rings and golden watches. For a moment, everything was still.

And then his shadow began to _move_.

* * *

Another robbery reported, and she was late to the scene because she'd stayed out so late last night and slept through her alarm. Typical. Rebecca hustled past another crowd of commuters, clutching her satchel to her chest. Her recorder and press badges were in there somewhere, she'd have to dig them out before she got there. She groaned—her boss was going to kill her.

"Rebecca Hopkins, _Domino Daily_." She muscled her way to the front of the crowd, where the Police Captain was already gently ushering away the onlookers. The jewelry store was completely empty—she could see it through the picture windows. It looked brand-new.

She held the recorder out towards the Captain. "What is being done to protect our city?"

"We have the finest officers assigned to this case; they've been working day and night to follow every lead. If you see anything suspicious, please report it to the authorities…"

It was the same old lines. What else could he say? The public would skewer him if he deviated from this particular script. Business was big in Domino—it was how things have always been. She got a few lines from the owner of the store, a middle-aged woman, and turned towards the crowd, searching for a few potential everyman-types to close it out. Looking out, Rebecca froze when she realized that right across the street was the bar where she had met her friend only the night before. Had they seen the thief? She desperately tried to rack her brain but the faces became a blur—

She turned and smacked right into a young man carrying a cup of coffee; it sloshed all over the lid and dripped down his hand.

"I'm sorry!" She said, her mind snapping away from the previous night. "That was my fault—it didn't get on your shirt, did it?"

He glanced down at the blue-and-white striped fabric, blessedly free of coffee spots before straightening up, noticing her recorder and badges. "You're with the press, aren't you?"

"Yes I am, reporting for the _Domino Daily_." She held out the tape recorder towards him with a touch of pride. "Care to contribute to the article? What are your thoughts on this latest robbery?"

"I'm not convinced that the Police Force can do anything to stop this thief," he said, smirking a little at Rebecca's reaction. She was _definitely_ going to write him in. "If I owned a store, I would be spending my nights there. There's just too much to lose otherwise."

"Thanks, that's great," Rebecca said, her morning and mood vastly improved. "Can I get a name to go with this in case I use it in the final article?" Of course she was going to use it, but it was better to be coy. Maybe he would tell his friends to buy a copy.

He stuck one hand in his jeans pocket, the other wrapped securely around the coffee cup. "My name is Bakura."

* * *

Officer Kogoro of the Domino Police Force set the phone back in its cradle; a second later it was ringing again—another reporting of the city's night thief. If all of these reports were true, he was in twelve different businesses, a grocery and a church, and that was all within the last hour.

"Yes sir, I've alerted one of our officers to your location and they will be with you shortly. Please don't mistake them for the actual thief," he said, hanging up only to hear the ringing again. It was getting out of control.

He looked up to see Lieutenant Ohtaki just coming in. "It's a nightmare. I don't know what happened, but it's making it impossible to do our jobs properly. A woman took a handgun into her clothing store, and blew a hole through the window when a bird flew by. A few delinquents think it's now open season, and we've had a few legitimate break-ins throughout the city. One neighborhood is requesting a nighttime patrol, even though they know the thief hasn't broken into any houses."

"The media seems pretty happy about it."

"Let the Captain deal with them. We need to get back out there." Pulling Kogoro from his desk, they went out into the night.

* * *

Bakura kept his distance. His senses were sharp enough that it was as if he was there, right with him, breathing the same air. But there was something to be said for going unnoticed, and so he kept a wide space between them.

He beckoned out to the shadow of his prey, looming in the lamplight, pleased that it answered back to him. It was growing every day. Its master—for now, its master—continued onwards towards a darkened bookstore, totally unaware that he was being watched.

Bakura watched him almost every night. He had been for weeks, trying to get every last detail perfect. Crime revealed a person's innermost nature, so any additions on his part had to be genuine. He growled low in his throat at the sight of them devouring the books, the shadow swelling into a different form. They were not so different, really.

By now he knew his prey so well that he could close his eyes and still see every detail of him. He didn't need to see—his shadow could do it for him. Just watching them was tempting, so tempting for him to join in the feast…

But not yet. Wait. It would be much more satisfying then. His own shadow curled impatiently around him, and he settled for another store several blocks away. There would be plenty of time to return here and remove the fingerprints before morning. Though of course, for him the night never ended.

* * *

"I figured I would find you here." Kisara stood beside the bank of computers, trying not to disturb the other patrons by being too loud. "When I drove you back you really just wanted to go to an internet café!"

Bakura turned away from the computer, annoyed at being interrupted. "What do you want?"

"The quotes in this newspaper article—that was you, wasn't it?" She reached into her purse, fishing around for the clip she had brought. "Did you intentionally want to cause panic, or is that what you really believe?"

"I was merely answering some questions for the paper. That's not against the law."

"You knew what would happen if something like this was printed! Hundreds of false sightings got called in, several others used this opportunity to break in and take whatever they wanted—and our officers are already exhausted. Do you want the thief to be caught or not?"

He raised one eyebrow. "There were other reported break-ins?"

"Yes. Typical, trying to copy the original thief—but they certainly left behind a mess."

"I take it you don't like copycat criminals?"

"I don't like any criminals," she said. "But there are usually big differences between the copier and the original—the police will purposefully withhold some details to the public just to distinguish between them. These break-ins are exactly the same, in that the place is left with nothing. And I don't want to believe that right now, Domino has two thieves still walking free."

Bakura shrugged. "Someone else could have always made the crime scenes look the same—say the original thief always left something behind and his echo cleans it up, you all would never know about it. What you lack," he said, allowing himself a smile, "is _imagination_. Crimes like this reveal a person's innermost nature. What do we all want?"

He leaned in closer as if to share a secret with her. "What we want," he whispered, "is more. Always more. We can never get enough of anything. That desire fuels us and is never quenched. You feel it too, don't you?"

Kisara drew back, her heartbeat racing. There was no doubt in her mind now. She could feel his eyes on her like there was a bullseye on her back—he had lied earlier, this was all planned.

They had it all backwards—their source was the echo. She remembered back to the narrow interrogation room, to a man who had allowed himself to be captured to check in on their progress. Every piece had been maneuvered perfectly.

He left and she let him, shivering all over. When her shaking hands shifted the computer mouse, the monitor Bakura had been using leapt back into focus. She recognized the image—the building in particular was very close to the Precinct—but it took several minutes of staring at the Industrial Illusions tower to understand it.

Shuzo Ohtaki was a little less understanding. "Do you realize most of this is circumstantial?" he asked after hearing her story. She had run to his office—under the circumstances, she figured it was the safest place she could be. He listened patiently, his hands reaching automatically for the folder with the little information they had on Bakura. "Why Industrial Illusions? It's completely different from any of the other businesses."

"It fits the profile," she said, "of a copycat criminal shifting the blame to the original, or using the pattern to mask the real crime. Although I'm still not sure which role he plays—Bakura made it sound like he wanted to take over the other one—"

"We can't afford to wait on this," Ohtaki answered, staring grimly at the file. "I2 has state-of-the-art security, but if they vanish and it turns out that we knew about it and didn't act…" Giving a reassuring look to Kisara, he reached for the phone, ready to make some of the strangest calls of his career.

* * *

It felt like everyone was holding their breath as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. For one terrifying moment she wondered if Bakura might have been lying, rounding them all up to guard an empty field while he passed by just out of sight, but she brushed it aside.

Despite being here, Kisara felt safer than she would have alone. It was a beautiful building, with illustrations of different Duel Monsters cards as artwork on every wall. Roland, Pegasus Crawford's butler, had graciously invited them in on his behalf. They were welcomed in, got set up, and then started waiting.

They didn't have to wait long—after an hour, Ohtaki got the message that an intruder had activated the main building alarms, somehow bypassing the outer perimeter alarm. Ohtaki called one of the officers that had been posted on the ground level along with several I2 staff.

"There was a man in a red cloak, I couldn't get a good look at his face," Officer Daimon said, his voice a whisper through the phone. "Nothing we did fazed him… he just passed us, like a ghost, until he got to the big display of Duel Monsters cards in the lobby. H-He held them up to his shadow, and it started _eating_ the cards! They were vanishing around him, and then it started to go dark."

He hesitated for a moment, until Ohtaki gently asked him to continue. "One of the others charged him, and—when their shadows crossed, _he_ vanished too. When it got dark, the shadows were everywhere, and… I think your phone call woke me up. None of the others are moving."

Shuzo rushed to Kisara as the door to the roof vanished and a man walked through the gap towards them. His long robe fluttered in the wind, and when the hood of it fell backwards they could see a long scar down the side of his face. His shadow stretched out the wrong way, towards them, writhing and twisting as it got closer.

"You're not Bakura," Kisara murmured, a little surprised when that was all it took to get him to come to a stop just shy of them.

"My name _is_ Bakura. I'm Bakura the Thief." For the first time, they were looking at the original.

With a roar like thunder, their Bakura and his roiling silhouette stepped out from the shadows. "Not anymore."

The two charged at each other and were lost in the clouds of fog that had rolled in with the night. Kisara could make out their outlines as well as the flickering forms of two enormous, monstrous creatures beside them, swirling, combining and separating again, each trying to overtake the other. In the darkness she reached for Ohtaki's hand and clasped it tightly in her own.

Kisara could hear him laughing, dark and low, as the shapes grew more frenzied. At first she thought Bakura was getting smaller, but then his shadow started to grow—it had caught the other one by the middle and was slowly tearing it apart, consuming it and swallowing it whole. "It's over," she heard him whisper, clutching the thief's body to his chest as if they could somehow meld like the shadows. His monstrous shadow continued until nothing was left of it, devouring any stray shadows it could reach until they all were absorbed.

It was _his_ identity now. He already felt more like him, the Thief Bakura. He wondered what it would feel like—he'd gone so long without new prey that he'd almost forgotten the sensation. But this time, he was lucky enough to find two, although the woman's wasn't strong enough to make a satisfying meal for him yet. So he'd lured her up here to distract the thief, but also for a vital lesson. She had no knowledge of the power that dwelled inside her until this night but soon she too would be craving more. Just like the Thief; he'd see to that.

Before he could turn on them next Ohtaki had his weapon out and aimed at Bakura. "You are under arrest," he said as calmly as he could. "Do not resist capture or I shall have to use—"

Bakura whipped a tendril of shadow out at him, knocking him unconscious and sending his weapon sliding across the floor. In an instant Bakura was beside her, hovering there for a second before he heard the footsteps

"You're next…"

Officer Daimon burst through the gap where the door once was, running straight for Kisara and Lieutenant Ohtaki. The fog that had blanketed the skies was still thick and turbulent, but somehow in it things looked different. When the wind caught just the right way and before she could blink Kisara thought she saw a shimmering, flickering form beside each Officer. She wondered if they saw someone different when they looked at her.

* * *

Rebecca Hopkins sat in front of her computer, staring at the blinking cursor on the blank page. Her mind was just as turbulent as the fog that was covering Domino's city center.

It was the sort of article that could make her career. The trouble was, she still wasn't sure just what she had seen.

She had several photographs taken with the camera on her phone, but her eyes were sharper and she had always trusted them. Besides, photographs didn't show the shadows moving, spinning and crawling towards her. Even her own shadow was able to crawl halfway up the building, and she was somehow able to see through it to the battle above. Photographs made two monsters in the sky above Domino look like blurry flashes of lightning. She knew what she had seen.

Rebecca reached for the keyboard, bringing it closer to herself, still unsure how she wanted to write this, if she wanted to write it at all. She stared at the blinking cursor, at the white page, blank like the empty rooms robbed of all their treasures.

She closed her eyes, reliving the moment when her shadow leapt from the wall to the ground below. She felt weightless, like she could do anything. She felt free. She opened her eyes at the disappointing blank page. She would give anything to feel that freedom again.

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Ohtaki, Kogoro, and Daimon appear in My Misguided Fairytale's stories _11:59:59pm_ and _Parabola_—this story is set before either of them. I hope you like it MMF!

The ka/shadow monsters referenced throughout the story are TKB/Diabound and Dark Bakura/Zorc, in addition to Kisara's BEWD. Rebecca's ka is the wall guardian :D

Ubiquity represents the idea of being in more than one place at the same time, essentially Bakura's plan all along.

Inspired partly by the Death Note Another Note light novel, which is fantastic, and I'm rather interested in continuing this as a Dark Bakura x Kisara x Seto Kaiba semi-sequel if the opportunity ever arises. Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


	17. The Accompanist

Written for Round 7 of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Taphoshipping: Mother x Father Ishtar. As they are unnamed in the series, I'm using Panya and Nassor, respectively, and have given Panya an older sister named Meret.

"The Accompanist"

* * *

"_God, how we get our fingers in each other's clay. That's friendship, each playing the potter to see what shapes we can make of each other."  
― Ray Bradbury_

* * *

"You're Meret's sister, aren't you?"

She sat by herself; clutching the stone she had been using to scratch the shape of a fish into the ground. She squinted up at the boy, nodding. He was several years older than her but barely taller, although he carried himself like those were both important distinctions.

She was never just Panya, but Meret's sister. "Give me that," he said as he snatched the rock out of her hands, transforming the simple fish into an ugly, spiny monster. Panya looked on, upset, unsure of how to react.

"That was my drawing." It came out weaker than she'd hoped.

He snorted, drawing several more spines to the fish just to be cruel. "You don't own anything. Your family is second-tier, barely even real tomb-keepers. You're hardly fit to clean our garbage—"

She lunged for the stone, desperately kicking out with her feet to erase the drawing. "You take it back!" He tried to twist her fingers away but she clung to the stone, digging the point of it into his palms until she felt him let go. They had rolled away from the drawing; clutching the trophy between dusty fingers, she couldn't find even a trace of it.

"I'll tell my father!" he shouted, glaring at her.

"No, you won't." Meret had found them, bruised, angry, both breathing heavily—all over a simple rock toy. "That would mean explaining to the patriarch that his son lost to a girl." He tuned his glare to her. They were the same age but she was already growing muscles where he was stuck with thin, powerless arms. "Come on, Panya. Father wants to see us. Let's hurry back, I'll race you."

They took off running down the smooth earthen corridors, Panya running faster to keep up, Meret running slower because Panya was with her. They ran, giggling, kicking up the dust with their feet, and before long the sting in her own hands was all but forgotten. But the look on his face stuck with her—there was something angry and wounded and determined in his expression, and she wondered how it should make her feel.

* * *

The first time she remembered hearing about the Ishtar family Panya was barely six and just learning her numbers and letters, watched over by her mother and Meret. Meret leaned over her sister's shoulder, singing the letters that marched across the paper and fixing the minor mistakes.

"It's too hard to remember where the letters go," she said, frowning solemnly at her work.

Meret shrugged, somehow managing to look graceful even hunched over. "That's why I make a song to go along with them. I never forget anything that way." She looked up curiously at her mother, who was making dolls for them out of scrap fabric. "Why don't we learn that way? There's so much to learn—"

"Thousands and thousands of years!" Panya chimed in.

"—and if we could all just sing, it would be easy! And more fun than boring letters, anyways."

Their mother laughed, and there was even a bit of song in that laugh. "Maybe it would be better, but that's not for us to decide. Our family, and the others, all follow the patriarch. An Ishtar serves the pharaoh, and we serve them both. It is how things have always been done."

Panya had seen the patriarch and his family several times during the year, when the entire clan gathered together. She remembered the stern-looking Ishtars at the front of the hall, their son a miniature copy of the father, diligently following his every move and motion. Try as she might, she couldn't imagine any of them singing.

"This way, it'll _take_ thousands and thousands of years to learn," she grumbled. And then Panya reached for her sister's stomach where she knew it was the most ticklish, and they fell to the floor, laughing.

* * *

Panya often caught Nassor Ishtar lurking around the corners, watching them when he was certain they couldn't see. Panya had taken a snack from the kitchens—the one thing she had over Meret was that the kindly grandmother in the kitchen could never refuse her—when she heard the rumbling of another hungry stomach behind her.

When he came out, warily eyeing her, she held out the biscuit like a peace offering. "You can have one."

"Where's your sister?" He took it and started to eat, gingerly sitting down with his back to the wall to join her. For the most part, the children were left to themselves—it was easy to choose a place where nobody would find you. She was good at that, too.

"Father won't let her leave our room today—she was singing so loudly it was bothering the neighbors."

"_I_ never heard her singing," he said, frowning. Panya realized for the first time that she didn't know where he lived inside the compound. Her entire world could be covered in a matter of minutes; mealtime to lessons to play and sleep, repeated every day. There were places she didn't go—Nassor would be the next patriarch; she supposed he just went where he pleased.

She finished her own biscuit and brushed the crumbs from her face. "Why are you always hanging around here, anyways? It's weird."

"My father says your family is okay, compared to the others…Your mother helps when the babies are born, and your father works for mine, with several of the other runners—"

"Runners?"

He looked at her for a minute, confused. "Of course. You know, the ones that leave to go get whatever we need and bring it back here."

She sat staring at her hands, her mind fixed on that one word. Leave. People _left_ this place? How much was there to see beyond the walls of their compound? It had been her father who had explained the compound to her when she had been old enough to ask questions. _You are a tomb-keeper_, he had said, ruffling her hair fondly. _And it takes many minds and hands and hearts to protect the legacy of the pharaoh_. Supporting the pharaoh and the Ishtar clan was the most important thing. And when she had asked how her father knew that the outside world was so hot and weary and desolate, sensibly wondering that it might have changed and no one would have known about it, being underground for so long, he had simply handed her another biscuit and that was the end of it.

Nassor frowned, taking her silence as confusion. "You really don't know anything, do you? You don't even know what your own father does!"

She sat up straighter. "Well, _you_ didn't know that Meret sings!"

"And I'll bet that _you_ don't know—"

"That's enough!"

Panya looked up into the shadow of the Ishtar patriarch. Beside her, Nassor had gone very still and she understood why. It was frightening—she had never before felt so scared just by looking at someone. In this man's eyes she was nothing, an ant or a grain of sand in the long line of tomb keepers that were part of their legacy. Under his dour expression, there was no room for even a thin ray of candle-light. Shivering, she moved to reach for Nassor's hand before she realized what she was doing.

"Nassor, come with me. It is time for your lessons."

As quickly as she had ever seen he was up, his entire attention focused on his father. "I studied for hours last night! You'll see, I'll be perfect!"

He didn't appear to hear a word of what his son had said, simply turning and walking away. Nassor followed, eagerly searching for approval in his eyes, leaning into the touch when his father placed one hand firmly on the center of his back, pushing him forward, until she lost sight of them.

* * *

That night, once they were alone Panya didn't waste one moment, sitting up in her bed and turning excitedly towards her sister. "Today Nassor Ishtar told me that people leave this place and go outside. He said Father is one of them." It wasn't just the thought of the leaving that was so tantalizing to her; it was being part of the group that _knew_. She frowned, distressed, at her sister's silence. "_You_ knew?"

"I followed Father one day—he went into a room that was very well hidden, with a staircase that went up," Meret said, and Panya closed her eyes, imagining it. "I didn't go up, but I could see places where light shined in through cracks in the door. But don't tell Father or Mother! Or Nassor—you shouldn't be talking to him anyways."

"He asked about you," Panya said, looking curiously at her sister.

"If you promise to keep it a secret, I'll show you the staircase," Meret said, ignoring everything else. "We can go one night, when everyone else is asleep."

Panya snuggled back into her bed, but she couldn't seem to fall asleep—she saw _his_ face in her mind, terrifyingly close. "…Meret?"

"Hm?" She stirred in her own bed, in-between waking and sleep.

"Can you sing for me? I can't sleep."

The melody was low and hushed and soothing, lulling her to a peaceful, gentle sleep. With the song in her ears she felt safe and strong.

* * *

Months became years as they studied and sang and grew up together until one morning, Panya woke up to find the other bed empty. They had outgrown lullabies and nighttime explorations of the compound's corridors, but every morning Meret would shake her awake and help her get ready, pinning back her long hair before they walked—running was another childish thing set aside—to breakfast, but this morning she woke up on her own.

Something was wrong.

She poked around Meret's side of the room cautiously; usually such a thing would bring her running. It was curious—several of her dresses and her good pair of shoes were missing. She made to leave the room, now genuinely alarmed, when she heard her parent's voices in the next room.

"The money I had been given for my next trip to the surface is gone." She had never heard her father so angry. "I'm certain she took it—our daughter is gone—"

Panya listened at the door, stunned. "Don't say such things! She could just be somewhere in the compound… we could ask one of the other families for their help…"

"They will talk, if they are not already talking," he said wearily. "And the worst of it is the promise we made to the Ishtar clan. We'll have to go back on our arrangement."

"What about Panya?" Her mother's voice was hushed. "She is old enough, and if she agrees to take her sister's place…"

Panya drew back from the door, one hand over her mouth to keep from gasping and giving herself away. Meret was going to become Nassor's wife…but she was gone. She had left, and Panya doubted she'd ever come back. It hit her like a wave, suddenly and swift; she'd never felt so lonely before.

If they would have her, she would take up her sister's place. She imagined Meret, dancing and singing through beams of the brightest sunlight. Wherever she was, Panya wished her well.

* * *

She looked into Nassor's eyes and found a stranger there; stiffly formal under the weight of his parents' stern glances. She wore a dress that would have been Meret's and looked beautiful in it, everybody said so. And when he took her hand and clasped it tightly in his, they didn't shake, but all the same she could feel the sweat in his palms. She was certain he could feel hers.

At the end of the day he showed her to the rooms that would become their home. When she was younger Panya wondered where the Ishtar clan lived; they weren't much different from her own. They had their own private, stone-walled courtyard and a heavy door with a lock on it, but for the treasured servants of the pharaoh she had been expecting something grander.

They were alone. Slowly, hesitantly, he drew her into his arms and placed one delicate kiss upon her forehead. Their lips met and she leaned into the kiss, surprised at herself for being so bold. She helped him out of his shirt, and that was where it ended.

The instant he felt her fingertips on his back he jerked away, flinching, pushing her away when she tried to touch him a second time. When he turned away from her she saw it—the raised edges of scars forming symbols and lettering down the length of his back. It curved around his shoulder blades, the lettering uneven in several places where she assumed he had struggled. Could Nassor have submitted to this willingly? She reached for him again, her hand pausing in midair in case he flinched away again.

He took her hesitation for disgust, quickly turning back towards her and swatting her hand away. She was reminded of the prideful, cruel child he had been, eager to do anything for his family. The dutiful son. Bile rose in her throat. This sacrifice of hers was nothing compared to thousands of years of anguish.

He sneered at her, daring her to make a move. "Welcome to the family," he hissed before turning and lying down on one side of the bed, the blankets drawn up around him to shield his back from her eyes.

When she was certain he was asleep—only then did she allow herself to cry. She couldn't face him; she couldn't do her duty. What mother would allow their son to undergo such a fate?

* * *

Panya could see it in the way that they looked at her—she was no longer their equal. She could see it in her father's eyes when the other runners brought in cartons of fresh produce or sewing needles or soap, and gave her the first choice of their yield.

She had stopped humming, stopped singing. It reminded her of her sister, and she didn't think Nassor wanted that reminder. She thought for a long time that he hated her; hated that she looked so much like Meret, that there was a part of her left that could smile and sing. That she was from a lesser clan—that, to him, they all were of a lesser clan—and yet he was bound to her, and still they had no heir.

She didn't hate him. To her Nassor was still the poor boy that carried around a Senet board, alone, attempting to play the game anyways even though he lacked an opponent. He lurked around corners and pestered her. She missed the child whose world was no larger than a suite of rooms.

They were far from young when his parents died—one after the other, scarcely a month apart. They followed all of the proper, public rituals to reward the pharaoh's most faithful servants before, privately, releasing the bodies to a grim older Tomb-keeper from one of the lesser clans and his scared, pinched-looking son. With thousands of years of history, there was simply no more room to safely house them within the compound.

The next night he stumbled into bed, drunk, and promptly fell asleep, rolling over so she could clearly see the lines carved onto his back. She reached out one hand and laid her palm flat over the depiction of an ankh made in the center of his lower back. The skin was uneven; it hadn't healed well. She didn't think it ever would.

He was still fast asleep and so she mapped out each inch with her fingers, committing the designs to memory, understanding it a little better every time. This was the legacy of the Ishtar clan. She vowed to remember it always.

* * *

"Back already? …"

Panya looked up at the stranger who had just entered her room. She was frozen with surprise and fear at his very presence—but it was his eyes that startled her the most. They lacked any kind of light. They were the eyes of a man who had seen everything.

"My name is Shadi," he said, bowing his head slightly. Through the folds in his robe she could make out the glint of gold, and in her mind's eye the golden artifacts that had been bequeathed to her shimmered back as if they recognized each other. "I need you to come with me."

"But—"

"Trust me." His voice was dark and deep and there was a bit of song to it. She found herself walking towards him.

He took her firmly by the hand and guided her through the stone corridors. It was late and they didn't meet anyone along the pathways; it reminded her of the many nighttime excursions she made with her sister, moving sure-footed through the familiar hallways around their own rooms. They arrived at the door to a room she had entered only once before. Strangely enough, Panya had known the moment she saw him that this was right where he would lead her.

In the half-light they could see an ancient stone staircase that led up to another door. After a bit of resistance, they started to climb.

She didn't know where to look first. Her eyes settled upon the wash of stars in the beautiful, ink-black night before the moon stole away her attention. Like stars themselves the twinkling lights of a far-off settlement shone in the distance. A slight breeze rustled their hair and clothes. The air was fresh and cool; she could practically taste it.

Only then—after Panya took in the sky and the sands and everything else—did she even notice the infant. He was quiet, as enchanted with the night as she was, and cooed happily at her when she cradled him in her arms. He had been left there; there was no one else besides Shadi and any footsteps leading away from their compound had already vanished in the shifting sands, blown away by the wind.

She looked at his impossibly huge eyes, and at Shadi's impossibly dead eyes, and felt a strange tug at her chest. "You meant for me to find him."

"Yes," he said, "And I have something to show you, if you will let me into your mind." He pulled at the cord around his neck until his hands found the golden key. He offered it to her, and after a moment, she nodded. It seemed that becoming an Ishtar was only the beginning to uncovering the secrets of her clan.

The metal was cold against her forehead and then she was gone, flying across the desert to a large, bright city. She could make out a tiny figure centered in a single spotlight. There were the faintest sounds of music, and singing so beautiful it made her want to cry.

"Your sister." Shadi was with her as they watched Meret performing to an impossibly large crowd. There were more people gathered to see her than she had ever seen. "She has become a widely-regarded soloist."

They watched until the song finished and then he showed her another. This time, she wore a spangled green dress and sang a duet with a handsome tenor. Panya didn't understand the words of the song, but she understood its meaning.

"This child… it's hers, isn't it?" At her side, Shadi nodded. She could see a little bit of his mother in him.

"I promised her that I would ensure that you found him. It has to be you, you'll see—Rishid will grow up to be quite the devoted older brother."

Panya cradled Rishid in her arms, her heart already beginning to break. He would have siblings—that meant that the legacy would continue as it had for so many generations…

"I don't want them to suffer. Please, I'll do anything." The illusion of music wavered for a moment; she could still feel the metal of the key against her skin. It felt like dreaming. She must be dreaming.

Shadi looked at her solemnly. "Your children will be the last of the Tomb-keepers," he said before fading away with the last strains of the song. She shouted for him but was drowned out by the wave of applause that rippled over the theatre.

It jostled her awake; she was dreaming, she was only dreaming, Meret's lullaby just playing tricks on her mind.

"Wake up… wake up…"

And then she was six again, her sister's whispers at her ears. Mind half-hazy from sleep, she allowed Meret to bring her from their room into other corridors and corners that they knew by heart. In the darkness, their feet and hands saw better than their eyes and so they kept along, occasionally whispering or signaling to the other. Meret went first, pulling herself along with one hand firmly on the wall and Panya followed, her hand trailing on the hems of her sister's nightgown. It was daring to explore alone, at night, but Meret had heard from one of the other children that there was one particular room in the compound with a cut-out in the ceiling from which you could see the sky. They had boasted of the beauty of the night sky and that was it; Meret had to see it too.

"I heard something."

They darted down one hallway, their original goal forgotten. The sound came up again; not quite the cadence of footfall but a low, resonant hum. Somewhere in the compound, there was chanting.

"Let's see if we can get closer. I want to know where it's coming from," Meret said as they inched forward in the darkness.

"We're going to get in trouble."

"Don't be silly," her sister chided. As they got closer, the sound became louder. This was a wing that they had never gone down before. Every hallway looked the same; Panya had never thought that there could be something different at the end of them.

Meret pointed to a sliver of light that beckoned from a door left ajar at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing closer to the crack in the doorway, they brought their faces close to the opening to see into the room beyond.

The room was lit by candles, washing their drab cloaks a sickly shade of yellow. She counted six men—no, seven, there was a seventh bound to a stone bench in the center of the room. Panya fidgeted; she couldn't see past them, and Meret's hair was brushing her face until it itched.

Over the chanting, they heard the first scream, and then a choked, muffled sob. Panya looked up at her sister. "What's happening?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes were wide, taking in the light coming from the room. One of her hands found her sister's and squeezed tightly. "We have to go back," she whispered, flinching when they heard another scream. She dragged Panya away from the door and back until they could no longer see it, but the sound of the chanting continued to rumble in her ears and in her chest. It frightened her. It frightened her because when they heard the screams, she thought she recognized that voice.

* * *

Panya opened her eyes to the cool desert night and the moon and the stars. In her arms, Rishid yawned, snuggling deeper against her. Shadi was gone.

His parting words lingered in her mind. The end of the Tomb-keepers could only mean one thing: the return of the nameless pharaoh. It was what they had been waiting for all these years. He was the reason for so many years of sacrifice, of silent songs and darkness. She looked at Rishid, the first of her children. His time, too, would come.

"If such things are possible," she said to him, a genuine smile working through her fears until it blossomed on her face, "then everything is." Before Panya turned to go back underground, she started to sing the first notes of a lullaby. For a moment she thought she heard Meret's voice in the night, helping her along with the parts she couldn't quite remember, but it must have been a trick of the wind.

* * *

The End.

* * *

The names Panya and Nassor mean mouse and victor, respectively, and are not mine (MMF, you said we could use them if we wanted to so I took you up on your offer. Finding one name took me long enough!). Meret is the name of an Egyptian goddess associated with rejoicing and singing.

Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


	18. An Undertaking

Written for Round 9 of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Gangshipping: Hirutani x Jounouchi, with a side ship of Puppyshipping if you tilt your head a little. AU in which the chronology of the series is a little stretched; Jounouchi hasn't met Yugi yet and Kaiba Corporation continues to be led by Gozaburo as a leading weapons manufacturer and distributor.

"An Undertaking"

* * *

In the distance he could hear the shrill whine of the police sirens. Whenever he heard them, Jounouchi couldn't help but glance at his own shadow, slinking out behind him in the sickly yellow light of the streetlamps. Just like his shadow, the sirens were never far behind.

He shrugged a little deeper into his jacket, twisting a little to keep his muscles from stiffening up. "Is the car loaded up yet?"

He could hear them further down the alley, grunting as they pushed the last of the heavy boxes into the trunk. In their gang, a man's importance was defined by his role. The lower-rung rats, like Nezumi and the others, carried messages and did the grunt work, the sorting and delivering of their merchandise. The dumb muscle served on nights like this, when they needed someone to lift the boxes of shells, guns, and other materiel without asking too many questions. Hirutani always drove.

Jounouchi was the lookout. He'd once asked Hirutani why, when they first started doing these jobs, and he simply replied, "I wouldn't trust anyone else with the task." It was the best kind of lie, the one with a little truth mixed in. He'd known Jounouchi for years; he wasn't the type to betray anyone. If he was, he would have done it by then—he wasn't the patient type, either.

Getting no response, he ran back towards the car—a delivery van, the kind that wouldn't be unusual at this hour—until he found Hirutani. "The sirens are getting closer," he said. "I think we'd better get out of here."

They had finished just in time. "We won't use this pickup point again. Now go—there will be trouble if you get caught."

"Trouble for us?" one of them asked.

"Trouble for _them_," Hirutani said, grinning. "Hey Jounouchi, there's an open seat in the front. You want to know where everything goes, right?"

He didn't like it, being singled out like the star pupil, but it would be more dangerous to reject the offer. He got in the car as the rest of them vanished into the night. Hirutani passed him a cap with a generic logo that matched the van as he started the ignition, slowly nosing the car out of the alley.

The streets were mostly empty as they drove, putting some distance between themselves and the sirens. "It reminds me of the good days," Hirutani said as they stopped at an intersection. "We were eleven, shaking kids up for bus fare and lunch money. Now, we're just shaking a much bigger tree."

He looked almost wistful. Jounouchi nodded, shifting in his seat. "I remember. You came to our house once, and when you were teaching me some of your newest fighting moves, Shizuka thought you were attacking me for real. She ran right up and kicked you in the shin."

Hirutani smiled and licked his lips, chapped from the cold and wind. There wasn't a part of him that wasn't rough, from his calloused fists to his hardened mind. Waiting just a beat, he asked, "And how is your sister?"

They heard the sirens again, closer this time, and Hirutani pulled underneath one of the highway overpasses and killed the lights. They waited for a minute in the darkness.

"Her appointment is scheduled for two weeks from tomorrow. If there aren't any complications, the doctor said it would bring back her eyesight, good as new. She's scared, though."

"Don't tell me you're scared, too," Hirutani scoffed. A police car drove down the highway, lights flashing, until it passed them by. "The Jounouchi I know makes others afraid of him. I don't want to hear anything different, you got it?"

He eased the car back onto the road, muttering about the increased police activity. When Jounouchi bothered to watch the news, there was always a mention about their work—how Domino's criminals seemed to be as well-armed as the cops these days—but after months of running weapons across town, they'd never come close to being caught until tonight. His mind was still stuck on Hirutani's words. _The Jounouchi I know_; said with such confidence. He wondered what Shizuka would think of that.

* * *

"I've been hearing whispers—you know I have my own contacts—and several other groups have been getting their supply chains cut off as well," Nezumi said, twitching and shivering, unaccustomed to being the center of attention.

"Are the police cracking down on illegal guns?"

They sat clustered in a garage that Hirutani rented, sitting on patched-up sofas that were grouped together in the center of the room. They had thrown tarps over their own inventory to mask the Kaiba Corporation logos on each box, causing the room to appear surrounded by fabric-covered lumps. "That's the thing," Nezumi continued. "The Domino Police is completely corrupt—Gozaburo's bought the entire precinct. Why would he ratchet down his own profits? I wouldn't think he was a man who would care who his guns are being sold to, as long as he gets his share."

Jounouchi twisted in his seat to avoid one of the sofa's springs. "What about judges, DAs… anyone else crusading against us? Or against KaibaCorp?"

"Not that I know of. I think this one is internal. It has the scent of something high up on the food chain."

Hirutani stood up, and Nezumi instantly fell silent. He took a minute to survey them all, faces tilted worshipfully up at him from the low sofas. "We're also a part of that food chain," he said, his hands instinctively balling into fists. "We have our own clients, who won't pay up unless they get what they ordered. What other gangs have the most stockpiled—the Ghouls or Ushio's gang?"

"We should raid both." They all turned to look at Jounouchi, no one more surprised or pleased than Hirutani himself. "We need the money from these deals, and we can't let them walk over us like this. We've got to strike back."

"We'll break into their vaults tomorrow night then, one right after the other." As the rest of the gang cheered, Hirutani grinned at him, whispering: "Welcome back."

* * *

It was easy work to break in to the self-storage complex the Ushio gang used to store their merchandise. Nezumi provided the codes to open the gate—it took a little persuading to get one of their group to spill the code and unit number but he gave them up in the end—and in a matter of minutes their truck was inside the compound. Behind them, the security gate dropped closed, locking them in.

"C Block, Units 10-12. Lucky us, that's the first floor."

Hirutani edged the car further into the maze of storage units, a village of small red doors facing the street and a long climate-controlled building. He had just passed the A Block when they heard the explosion.

"What was that?" Jounouchi yelled. From further into the complex they could see a heavy cloud of smoke; something must have caught fire. A moment later, there was a second explosion, this one accompanied by a blindingly bright flash of light.

"Ushio is counterattacking—if they're breaking into their own stores, it's bad," Hirutani said, frowning. The flash-bang grenades were one of Kaiba Corporation's biggest sellers, and they were tough—if you didn't know they were coming, you were left seeing stars and with ears ringing, totally out of commission. It was the perfect opportunity for the other side to regroup or escape.

"Somebody beat us to it," one of them said, disappointed, but Hirutani shook his head, listening to the cadence of the fight and recreating it in his mind. Without the codes to manually open the door, the other gang settled for force, blowing open the door and swarming inside. The single sentry must have pulled the flash-bang and ran for it. They saw him a moment later, darting down the road towards them before veering off to one side, heading towards the largest building. Only one man from the Ghouls followed him to finish the job, the rest content with their trophies.

"Not so fast. We'll ambush them when they try to leave. We can't let this opportunity go to waste." They all nodded, and Jounouchi found himself nodding along with them. He'd feel a lot better doing something, anything, than just sitting here. There was something about that fence that was making him jumpy.

"That man, the second one… he didn't look right." It was Nezumi who spoke, leaning towards the window to get a better look. "Doesn't everyone in the Ghouls wear black and white? That's a blue jacket… he belongs to somebody else…"

"Who?"

Nezumi's body had gone very still—only his ears moved, twitching, listening. Suddenly, he slid open the door of the van and leapt out, sprinting across the alley towards the cover of the building.

"Nezumi, stop!"

"Damn it, what is he thinking?"

Hirutani looked up into the rearview mirror just in time to see the gleam of another car's headlights, harsh stripes of light against the thick bars of the fence and gate. In the instant before they started firing, he did the only thing he could—he threw the car into drive and drove straight for the door.

The others weren't the target. They were.

"Get down!"

Jounouchi dropped, covering his head with his hands as the car skidded towards the building. The only exit was blocked, but if they could hold the highest ground, they could make it out. And if they found Nezumi, he was certain they would get him to sing. Just like a rat, he'd slithered out of the worst of it, but that didn't mean he had escaped it for good.

"Hold on," Hirutani shouted, twisting the wheel until the car was stationed right in front of the door. It made for a good cover, but their luck would last only as long as the enemy kept to the other side of that fence.

Somewhere in the middle of the crossfire, Jounouchi found his voice. "Grab everything and follow me," he said, reaching into the glove compartment where he knew they kept an extra pistol. "We're going in."

The hum of the air conditioner sounded like a roar in his ears. Sticking together, they crept through the darkness until they found the stairs, and then started to climb. Red metal doors were placed into the walls at regular intervals, and one window at the end of the hallway let in a feeble patch of moonlight.

Jounouchi stumbled over something on the landing of the top floor, staggering for several paces until he realized just what was blocking the hallway. From the pair of still bodies he could faintly see the glistening of wet footprints leading off down the path. Hirutani put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "We're going to make it out of here."

Jounouchi nodded, the motion helping to clear his head a little. Everything felt hazy, but the touch of Hirutani's hand was a lifeline. "I thought I heard something," Hirutani whispered, motioning for them to stop. Between the sounds of his own heartbeat, incredibly loud in his ears, he could hear it: the faint _scrape_ of shoes against concrete.

They both looked at each other. "Nezumi?"

They inched their way forward towards the corner before peering cautiously around the edge. Jounouchi recognized their former friend at the end of the hallway, fumbling with a combination lock attached to one of the units

The group acted as one, running down the hallway towards him just as Nezumi got the lock to click open, frantically pulling up the door. Hirutani got there first, colliding with Nezumi as he pushed them into the storage room. The others followed close behind, fists raised, storming the small storage room.

One of them pulled the chain to turn on the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, throwing the contents of the room into sharp relief. Even Hirutani stopped, his fist inches from Nezumi's face. The storage room was deceptively large, lined with wooden crates stamped with the Kaiba Corporation logo, and in the center of the room was a trapdoor leading down to the bottom floor.

Hirutani grabbed the collar of Nezumi's shirt, forcing him up against the wall stacked with boxes. "Do you work for Kaiba Corporation?" It came out less like a question and more like a statement—some of the equipment in the room looked much more powerful than what they traded in; nothing looked to be tampered or altered at all from the original source itself. Nobody else could alter the entire storage complex like this, either.

Nezumi gave a short, sharp nod, his face twitching and flinching in anticipation of a punch that never came. Hirutani let go of his shirt after a moment before motioning to the trapdoor set into the floor. "You will get us all out of here, and then you will take me to your boss. That's my deal, and it isn't negotiable."

They could hear the sound of approaching sirens—someone must have called in the first blasts or they had set off an automatic alarm. The police arriving would cause the rest from the other gangs to scatter; it was their perfect time to escape. Nezumi slunk to the center of the room to lift up the trap door, the slant of his shoulders and jerky, unsure steps betraying to them all just how clearly he felt their enmity. Like Hirutani had said earlier, they were all a part of the food chain and the reality of it was that, if they wanted to be safe, they had to start climbing.

* * *

"You're kidding."

Nezumi shook his head, his wide eyes blinking rapidly. "Mr. Kaiba reserves a private room for lunch, to conduct his business outside of the office. We won't be disturbed."

The restaurant was one of Domino's finest, one block down the street from the glass tower where the CEO worked every day. Jounouchi couldn't help but glance down at the frayed hems of his pants, checking his reflection in the mirror as he did so. He didn't know they would be meeting with one of the richest, most powerful men in the world.

"What are you so worked up over?" Hirutani whispered, looking like he was about to laugh.

"Glad to know you think this is funny," Jounouchi replied through gritted teeth.

"But—thanks for coming with me. In a roomful of rats and thieves, I need at least one person I can count on." Hirutani raised up one shoulder, gesturing for Jounouchi to follow him inside. The restaurant was paneled in rich, dark woods with cream-colored linen tablecloths. The slim, timid-looking waitress led them through the main dining room to the closed door at the back. Half of the tables were empty, but the piped-in music kept things from being too quiet.

She left them alone with Gozaburo and his men. He was seated at the head of a long wooden table that cut the room in half like a knife. Three men in suits and sunglasses kept watch behind him. Gozaburo took his time looking up from the meal, delicately setting down his knife and fork on the plate.

"Were my instructions carried out?"

Nezumi hesitated. "N—Not exactly, Gozaburo, sir—"

"What was so difficult? A little misdirection here and there, maximum chaos, one dead gang and the rest scrabbling at each other's throats. At least tell me the shipment of missiles has gone missing…no? Do I have to start shooting up gangsters myself? Should I do everyone else's job, in addition to my own?"

"We'll do it," Hirutani said, an eager gleam in his eyes. "We'll take any job you give us."

"That's more like it." Gozaburo stabbed at a piece of meat with his fork and took a bite, wiping the juice from his lips with a napkin. "You can have _his_ job. Isono?"

With the smallest nod, one of the suits moved briskly around the table, grabbing Nezumi by the arm and dragging him into the kitchen before any of them had a minute to react. The last he saw of him was his limbs, jerking and flinching, and his wide, frightened eyes. Gozaburo waited for Isono to return, alone.

"From now on, you do what I tell you," Gozaburo said, staring them down like he could see right into their minds. Any businessman of his caliber was excellent at reading people. "It's not my problem if your men get killed, so keep them close. By the next time we meet, I want panic. The gangs and police aren't turning on each other as quickly as I would like. Speed things up a little, rattle a few cages."

"What would really make them angry would be to hit them at their wallets. Can the media spread a false rumor about marked bills, or tracking devices on the newest shipments? And let's bottleneck distribution to the models we want them to have—Domino deserves the best, don't you agree?"

Gozaburo laughed, pleasantly surprised, the silverware clattering to his plate. He turned to Hirutani with newfound admiration. "You'll fit in well here," he said, raising his glass as if to toast him. "Tell me your name."

He grinned, nodding like he was only waiting for the opportunity. "It's Hirutani."

* * *

Their outfit changed overnight with the shift to new management, and the entire city seemed to feel the change like the pulse of a wave: they could see it coming, see the rippling in the fabric, but they were helpless to do anything but get caught in its irresistible pull.

Jounouchi began to notice the change in Hirutani as well. Gozaburo invited him to stay for lunch once, where they could discuss business over the red, rare steaks that were the restaurant's specialty. Gozaburo was fickle; he'd already changed out one of the bodyguards since they'd entered his service, and he had heard on the news that they found his body in the river… the police were blaming it on one of the gangs, but he knew better. Hirutani had bragged about the special assignments enough for him to put the pieces together.

But they were paid _well_ for their trouble. Jounouchi cashed the last check with a guilty sort of satisfaction; when he visited his sister that night, he wanted to tell her that they would have plenty left over after he paid for her operation. She'd been hinting about the money during his last visit, and the worried frown lines didn't suit her.

He bought some flowers in a shop outside of the hospital, choosing the brightest colors he could find. He knocked on the door to her room, instinctively straightening up and brushing the creases from his shirt even though she couldn't see them. All the same, somehow she could tell.

"Jounouchi!" Shizuka said, her face brightening just like the flowers. "I was waiting for you."

He hugged her tightly before sitting down beside her on the bed. Shizuka had a room all to herself on a busy floor; even with the door closed they didn't quite escape the sounds, the bleating of the monitors and the never-ending cadence of footsteps and carts travelling between each room. Even though the sun was setting, they barely had a moment to rest. "Did you get checked in okay? Do I have to sign anything?"

"Mom checked me in after dinner. There wasn't much else to do." He noticed then that she was already dressed in her pajamas, probably intending to sleep right after he left. She was scheduled early the next morning; he doubted that if their places were switched he'd be able to sleep at all. Shizuka was tough in some ways like that. "I made her promise to let you sign me out when I'm healed. I want my brother to be the first thing I see."

"I'll be there," he vowed. "I'll always be there. You don't have to wait for me anymore."

She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed happily. "That's all I've wanted. Will you be here tomorrow, or do you have to work?"

He paused for a second. "They're not expecting me until later. I'll stay here for as long as you want." He'd keep even Gozaburo Kaiba waiting if that was what it took. Even a man like him should understand that.

* * *

It took two buses and a ten-minute walk to make it from his front door to Gozaburo Kaiba's. During the trip Jounouchi could see the landscape change; the unvarnished, closely-packed apartments gave way to houses with yards, gated neighborhoods and finally the large Kaiba mansion, with a large house just peeking out from behind the high privacy fence.

He walked right up the driveway to the intercom set into the fence, buzzing in for their scheduled meeting. He was a little early, and he wanted to be—Gozaburo might be playing at the gracious host, but there was a reason behind everything. When the gate clicked shut behind him, he was reminded strongly of the night at the storage complex, and how they were so expertly trapped inside.

A short, round butler with small glasses greeted him at the entry and offered to take his coat, which Jounouchi politely refused. The foyer of the mansion set a grand first impression; with a checkerboard marble floor and crystals sparkling from the ceiling, it was obviously a home of great wealth. But from the foyer he could just see glimpses of the rooms leading beyond, tantalizing peeks into galleries, guest rooms and a library with more books than he could ever possibly read. He tried not to stare.

The butler led him in to an adjoining sitting room, done entirely in shades of red and gold. Despite being so early, he was the last to arrive; Hirutani was chatting with one of the Kaiba Corporation board members—Goemon, if he remembered correctly—and Gozaburo sat in the front of the room, in a chair that looked like some sort of throne. The bodyguards hovered in the background, silent and watchful.

"Jounouchi! Excellent timing." Gozaburo's voice boomed; there was nothing stopping him from being as loud as he liked inside his own home. "We were just about to start talking about phase two."

"Phase Two…?" He looked between them all, a slight suspicion forming in the back of his mind. He noticed that the butler hadn't offered him a drink like he had the others, condensation already dripping down the cold glasses.

"You didn't think this was everything, did you?" Gozaburo laughed heartily, leaning forward a little in his chair as if to share a secret. "What is it they say? No rest for the wicked, right? I'll still be keeping you all plenty busy."

"Phase One was all about scarcity and competition. Phase Two is about escalation," Hirutani said.

"Escalation?" It sounded to Jounouchi like Hirutani was just parroting lines without truly understanding them, a happy pawn in the hands of a skilled chess-master.  
"Yes." It was Goemon who spoke, adjusting his eyeglasses where they had begun to slip slightly down the bridge of his nose. "We give them bulletproof vests; we've got to pass along more armor-piercing rounds to even up the playing field, right? It's the same principle, and then they'll have to keep ordering more from us to compete. You'd order more just for the thrill."

Hirutani nodded along eagerly, licking his chapped lips. "You agree, right?"

Jounouchi looked down at his shoes, at how they contrasted so sharply to the polished wooden floors. They wanted him to say something; hell, _he_ wanted to say something. Hirutani had acted to save their lives, but at the expense of countless others. This wasn't what he signed up for. "It's not enough to sell them the weapons… they've got to use them. You want to create conflict… to create fear." From there, it was just a matter of tipping over the edge.

"Good, good," Goemon said approvingly. "We're all on the same page. Isono! See to it that this man gets a drink." One of the suits gave a curt nod and vanished into another room.

"No, I really should be going," Jounouchi said, checking his watch. "The last bus leaves in fifteen minutes—"

"Nonsense! One of my men will escort you back home safely. You know as well as I how dangerous this city can be at night." Gozaburo gave something of a smile at his little joke, allowing the butler to come back inside and usher Jounouchi back to the front door. He noticed Hirutani had yet to get up, only nodding farewell to his friend.

He waited, alone, in the foyer for the car to be driven around. There was a noise behind him—the faintest, muffled cough, and Jounouchi turned around to catch a glimpse of a young man about his age, peeking through the balustrade that wrapped around the second floor. Was this Gozaburo's son? He didn't know Gozaburo had any children; the image of the family man didn't match up well with the cold-blooded weapons tycoon of his acquaintance. He was looking at Jounouchi curiously, boldly, and occurred to him that this young Kaiba must have been listening in to their meeting.

Then he heard the sound of the car's tires crunching over the gravel outside, and when he turned back around to make sure he wasn't just imagining things, the other Kaiba was gone.

Isono was at the wheel of the car, a sleek black import, and when Jounouchi climbed in to the backseat he said, "I took the liberty of filling the cooler with a selection of beverages; please, help yourself."

He sifted through the bottles before closing it as they departed the mansion. He couldn't help but sigh as he settled back into the leather seat—it was terribly comfortable. "Kaiba brand bottled water, huh?" Suddenly, he looked up into the rearview mirror. "Are you thirsty? Do you want one, too?"

"No, thank you." Isono sounded amused.

"Hey, can I ask you a question? …Does Gozaburo have any children? He doesn't live alone in that big house, does he?"

Isono paused for a moment as they waited for the gate to open. When they passed underneath it, Jounouchi let out a small sigh of relief. He'd feel even better back at his own home.

"He has two adopted children, Seto and Mokuba Kaiba. Seto is probably not much older than you yourself, and similarly tasked with considerable responsibility—he's being trained to take over the company after his father."

He risked a second question. "You'd think the next-in-line would be shadowing _every_ facet of the business."

"It requires considerable training… and a certain temperament," Isono replied, all inflection gone from his voice.

Jounouchi twisted open his bottled water and took a few sips. He didn't trust himself enough to say anything more.

* * *

He waited until the doctors led Shizuka away, and then he sat in her room for a minute longer, just waiting. The flowers hadn't begun to droop yet; he'd added more water to the vase just to make sure they would last.

Finally, tired of waiting, he left the room behind and threaded his way through the crowded hallways and waiting rooms, just wandering, not wanting to leave just yet. It felt hazy, like walking through a dream, and in the maze of unfamiliar faces one jolted him back into focus.

He'd seen that man before, just once, listening at the door like a child. What the hell was Seto Kaiba doing here? He caught his eye, instinctively following when Kaiba moved further inside one of the side rooms, a plain single room with barely more than a bed and a cabinet.

Jounouchi jumped into action, shutting the door as fast as he could without slamming it, turning the lock and swinging out with his other fist. Kaiba blocked it, letting the punch graze effortlessly by his forearm, before grabbing his arm and pinning it behind his back.

With his free arm Jounouchi scrambled for the drawers of the cabinet, reaching inside for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers closed around something and he pulled it out, stabbing above his shoulder. Kaiba dodged; tightening his hold while reaching across Jounouchi's body, twisting his hand until he dropped the item, kicking it away rather than let Kaiba get it.

"You were going to kill me with a dental pick?" Kaiba asked, continuing to hold Jounouchi until he stopped struggling. "Look, I'm not here to fight you—"

"I—I'm having a hard time believing that," Jounouchi gritted out, throwing all his weight downwards until he felt Kaiba's grip loosen, and then twisted away. He didn't think for a moment that he actually got away on his own—a fighter that skilled would never leave so easy an opening—Kaiba must have wanted to get his attention some other way. Well, this was a language he could understand.

"Gozaburo Kaiba did not send me—I wanted to meet with you on my own. He doesn't know I'm here, even if this is his hospital," Kaiba said as he began to move around the room, putting things back into place and removing any traces of their short fight. The dental pick went back into the cabinet; the trash can he knocked over went back to its proper place beside the door. "So I'd appreciate if you keep our conversation to yourself."

After a moment, Jounouchi nodded. "What do you want?" Always the first question.

"Isono told me about you," Kaiba began, giving him the same chilling look that he recognized from Gozaburo. "He said you've been asking questions. Having doubts. Have they told you about Phase Three yet?"

"No, but I'll bet I can imagine it."

"You can't imagine it," Kaiba said, his tone completely, arrogantly dismissive. "Gozaburo Kaiba told me once, in one of my study sessions, that with the sheer amount of weapons he has at his disposal, KC can effectively neutralize over 90% of the human population. He means to use Domino as a testing ground for that hypothesis. That's Phase Three: destroy the rest of us."

It hit him, like a punch to the stomach. Was that what those weapons in the storage facility could achieve? And he was expertly using the rest of them to fulfill his twisted utopia. And no one could stop him; not the police, and any judge in the city was under Goemon's thumb… the only ones in any position to move were standing in that very room.

"I won't let it happen," Seto Kaiba continued. "And you're going to help me."

Jounouchi never liked being ordered around, least of all by some brat like Kaiba. "And what if I don't?"

"Shizuka Kawai: Room 1134. She was checked in last night for an eye operation, correct? Help me, and I'll keep her safe. Help me, and her hospital stay is completely free."

"You can't threaten me, and you can't buy me." Jounouchi fought to keep his voice level, he was practically shaking with anger. He wanted nothing more than to punch the arrogant smirk right off his face.

"Why—because _they_ already did?"

"That's different." Hirutani and him had known each other since they were boys. They'd grown up together, shared everything, but this—he'd lost him the minute he sat down with Gozaburo. Something had changed; they weren't in middle school any more. He had Shizuka, he still had his ties to humanity.

He wondered if he had been Hirutani's.

"Fine. I'll work with you. We'll put an end to this, together."

"Isono will pass along my messages, and anything you need to tell me can go through him. My plan has been growing for some time now—it's almost ready to be put into action."

"What are you waiting for?"

He detected the faintest twitch in that arrogant smirk. "In one week's time, Gozaburo will make the biggest mistake of his life—that's the day Kaiba Corp goes public. So do your best to stay alive until then."

"Watch your back, Kaiba." Jounouchi opened the door and was swept back into the river of activity, of patients and nurses and guests all there to help tend to the ill and injured. If Gozaburo had his way, this compassion would be gone, obliterated from the map as if it was never there. It made him sick. He left the building, heading out into the bright sunlight. Maybe Hirutani would be willing to go for a few rounds, like in the old days. He was itching to punch something.

* * *

Seven days, and each day was worse than the last. The news headlines only told a fraction of the story, but Jounouchi saw it with his own eyes—how they baited different gangs into tearing each other apart. Homeless were disappearing from the streets every night. There'd been a cave-in inside one of the major tunnels leading away from the city that many commuters used to get in and out of the city each day. Just like their weapons supplies, the major arteries of the city were beginning to be cut off.

They had become the men on the other side of the fence.

"Remember: You're only to interfere if it becomes violent," Isono whispered to him the evening before the seventh day; it was after they had stormed one particular research facility, giving Kaiba Corp control of several information and communications satellites.

"And will it?"

"Almost certainly." Isono bowed his head slightly before disappearing. It was all on Seto Kaiba, and whatever plan he'd been concocting. He had to admit it, the man had guts.

When he woke up that morning, he knew he had to see Shizuka before he did anything else. She could take her bandages off today; if everything went well he would be taking her home that evening.

"Shizuka, I brought you more flowers," he announced, holding out the bouquet of sunflowers, "I just wanted to—"

The person sitting on the bed wasn't Shizuka. In place of his sister, Hirutani sat on the bed, looking dispassionately across the room at him. "I really didn't want to do this," he said, "but you've given me no choice."

"What have you done with her?" There was no sign of her ever being there—her belongings were missing, even the flowers he had given her before were gone.

"She's perfectly safe—Kaiba Corporation is the safest place in Domino, I can assure you of that. In fact, I pleaded with them to keep her uninvolved… but Gozaburo is worried about you. He thought you needed a little _persuasion_ to stay motivated, so to speak. I know you're still on board; he just needs to see a little more spirit from you."

He gripped the end of the bouquet like a vise, lucky that the thick stems of the flowers wouldn't snap under the pressure. Just what kind of monster had his friend become? "I'm sure I'd _persuade_ him better myself—I'm going to KC Tower."

"Good—those were my other instructions. He wants to talk to you, in person. Oh, there's plenty of time, no need to rush—today is a very important day. Let's take our time."

* * *

The elevator rushed upwards, greeting the top floor with a chime as the doors slid open. Hirutani was right beside him the entire time, their arms brushing against each other with every step. It wasn't too long ago that they were driving delivery vans and watching out for police sirens.

The entire floor was Gozaburo's office, done in a similar palette to the colors of his mansion. The man himself sat behind his desk and in front of it was a very familiar face. He looked into Seto Kaiba's eyes for just a moment before sweeping them around to survey the rest of the room. Two of the bodyguards stood on either side of the desk while the third, Isono, sat off to one side, on a sofa with his sister and a boy he didn't recognize.

"Shizuka—"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my friend," Gozaburo said, leaning forward and bracing his arms on the heavy wooden desk. Shizuka's ears perked up at the sound of her brother's voice; she shifted her weight on the sofa before sliding back down after Isono pressed a firm hand upon her shoulder. She was still wearing her bandages. "Just like I was explaining to Seto, today is a very exciting day! Kaiba Corp is going public—and what better way to celebrate than with a _bang_?"

Gozaburo stood; in his hands was a small remote detonator with a round red button, not much larger than a television remote. "I want you to do the honors." Gozaburo's voice was icy cold as he walked around the desk towards him. "Just press one little button, and we can forget all of this ugliness. Take the detonator."

He reached out his hand, his arm brushing against Hirutani's on the way, and took the device from Gozaburo, their hands almost shaking with the detonator between them. Seto Kaiba looked up sharply at him, his face shocked. In the corner of his eye, he could see his sister, her hands clasped around those of the other boy's. "Press it," Gozaburo whispered, his lips stretching into a triumphant smile.

Jounouchi took a deep breath.

"No." He balled up his good hand and punched Gozaburo square in the jaw.

The room quickly turned to chaos. Jounouchi pulled Kaiba behind the desk just in time to avoid the spatter of bullets, chewing up the desk and shattering the windows all around them. The wind swirled up all of the loose papers and Jounouchi chanced a look over his shoulder, regretting it instantly. It was a long way down.

Isono had reacted instantly, flipping the couch over while cradling the children with his own body, using the sofa as a makeshift shield against the others. Shizuka kept a tight hold on the boy, Mokuba Kaiba, as he desperately tried to go help his brother.

"He keeps spare magazines in the desk," Seto Kaiba said, pulling open the desk drawers and flinging the boxes of bullets out the window. "When they run out of bullets, we're going to take them on together. It will happen any second now."

They hunched together behind the desk as bits of wood and stone flew into the air around them. Suddenly, he heard the tell-tale _click_ of the empty chamber. "They're out," Kaiba whispered.

"And we're in." Jounouchi grinned, leaping over the desk and tackling one of the guards. A moment later, Isono was at his side, delivering blow after blow until the man was unconscious.

"Why not help him?" Jounouchi motioned to Kaiba, who was taking on the other guard one-on-one.

"He will win," Isono replied with a touch of pride. "I trained him."

The roar of a single shot echoed deafeningly loud in the cavernous space and before he knew it, Jounouchi had caught Isono before he could fall to the floor. They staggered back together, Isono's hands reaching for his leg. Behind him, Jounouchi looked over at Hirutani, already fumbling in his pocket for a second round.

"Drop me," Isono grunted, and Jounouchi complied, letting him fall to the ground. He made it to Hirutani in three paces, swatting the gun from his hands before he could fire it again. They faced off, fists raised, and circled around each other. He noticed Seto Kaiba doing the same to his father.

"You would abandon us all? Your brothers, your family?" Hirutani yelled, charging him an getting in a few glancing blows. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he could see the Gozaburo talking to his son as well.

"I can't let you destroy this city. Is there nothing here you care about? Nothing here you don't want to watch fall?"

Hirutani looked at him bitterly. "I'm not interested in you if you want to be like everyone else. We could have had everything! You would throw that all away?"

He looked at Shizuka and nodded.

Hirutani yelled at him as he charged, knocking him to the floor just as another blast echoed through the room. A crimson spot began to spread on Hirutani's shirt, spotting the fabric with blood in a matter of seconds. Jounouchi twisted around to see the other security guard, now conscious, who had grabbed Hirutani's gun. The bullet had been intended for him, but it had just missed its mark.

Hirutani stumbled backwards, his arms clutching at his chest, the shirt drenched with red, staining his hands and getting underneath his fingernails. He looked back at Jounouchi for just one moment before turning back around, staggering between Gozaburo and his son. Before either of them could react, he had thrown his arms around Gozaburo and leapt savagely forward, rolling his body when they hit the floor until they both vanished over the edge of the shattered window.

"Hirutani!" Jounouchi gasped, running up to the edge before turning sharply away, bile already rising to his throat. "Damn it, Hirutani, you, you—"

Suddenly, Shizuka was in his arms, tears shining through her beautiful, clear eyes. She wrapped both arms around him and hugged him fiercely. He buried his head in her hair and started to cry, the sobs wracking his body, shivering and sweating all at once as a squadron of police officers burst onto the scene.

"What's happened? Who is in charge here?" One of them asked, his badge and weapon drawn. The others waited anxiously, unsure of how to approach the situation. Below them, Jounouchi could hear the sound of sirens.

"I am," Seto Kaiba said, standing up to his full height, his brother by his side. "I'm Seto Kaiba, the CEO of Kaiba Corporation."

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

"I still can't believe it." Jounouchi walked down the street, Shizuka's arm wrapped around his own. The news headlines were only just beginning to die down after a frenzied week; Kaiba had swiftly assigned all of the blame to Hirutani, and Jounouchi didn't have the strength to correct him. Just as the company had gone public, a series of branch accounts and dummy corporations had snatched up a majority of the shares, returning them to Seto Kaiba's quite capable hands. He had immediately shut down production; the last he heard of Kaiba he was traveling the world with Isono, retrieving and destroying any remaining Kaiba Corporation weapons technology. "No one will ever know..."

"You know, and I think that's what matters," Shizuka reassured him. He looked over at her and smiled gratefully, completely running into an old man who was setting up a small sign outside his store.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" He helped the man up just as another younger man ran from the shop.

"Grandpa, are you all right? What happened?"

"I told you that advertising our sale would bring the customers stampeding in!" He laughed, rubbing at his side with one hand. Turning a crafty grin to Jounouchi, he mock-wheezed, "The least you could do would be to come in and have a look. Do you like game?"

"Jounouchi loves games, and he's very bad at them," Shizuka teased as she took in the sign, decorated with a bright green turtle.

"You just need practice, that's all. My name's Yugi," he said, leading them in to their game shop. Holding the door open for Shizuka, they stepped across the sidewalk, over the threshold and went inside.

* * *

The End.

* * *

Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


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